


The Book of Ichabod

by malarak



Series: Spelled [1]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Sleepy Hollow AU, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malarak/pseuds/malarak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sleepy Hollow AU in which Ichabod Crane presides over a San Francisco antique shop and helps to collect magicked items let loose into the world. Jenny Mills is a witch. Abbie Mills is still a police officer. Andy Brooks is still being controlled by evil forces - just not exactly as earth-shattering as the ones on the show. And they all work to help Ichabod with mysteries and spells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit rating because of sexy times a few chapters in.
> 
> Murder, references to a past suicide, and some magical torture.
> 
> My plan is to post a chapter every Thursday.

Ichabod Crane stood in front of Harrison Hall on the San Francisco University campus. The hall was framed with towering sequoias and typically grey early spring skies. A large crowd of students were milling in front of the hall, standing on the grass verge to either side of the pathway in their sandals and shorts and thick sweatshirts and hooded jackets. Ichabod was usually noticed because of his slender height, and on this very informal college campus he probably would attract some attention for his well-cut slacks and sports jacket were it not for the fact that a cascade of water was flowing out of the front doors to the hall and down the pathway towards the center of campus. Things did not bode well for Ichabod’s apparel.

Ichabod noted that the stream of water veered off the pathway about twenty feet from the building and up a slope towards a flower bed, but no one else seemed to register that this stream of water was anything other than a bit of excitement and a reason to cancel classes in the hall, let alone magic.

The students did notice him, however, when he waded through the water on the front steps and entered the hall doors, and Ichabod heard the clicking of phone cameras and an increase in conversational buzz. He gave a nod to Detective Luke Morales, a familiar face in the SFPD, who waved him in to the building.

Alone in the entrance lobby was Detective Abigail Mills. Abbie, as she insisted he call her, was a young black woman with an attractively round face, large intelligent eyes, and a penchant for embarrassingly perceptive comments, especially as pertained to Ichabod. She was no stranger to magic. Her sister Jennifer was a witch, a caster of spells. Ichabod was friend to both of them, and both of them enabled him to do his work, which was to collect the signs of magic accidentally abandoned into the world at large.

Abbie was standing to one side, away from the flow of water, but that hardly seemed useful given how damp she already was. She watched him with amusement as he struggled against the current to get to her, the water having already soaked him to his waist.

"Hello Crane," she greeted him. She rarely used his first name, saying that it was just too many syllables and finding no satisfactory diminutive.

"Hello Abbie," he returned. "Aside from the hydrologically obvious, what have we got here?"

"It looks like a spelled object in a second-floor utility room. It's generating a fountain of water, and one of my contacts called me when he heard that there was no effect when buildings and grounds turned off water to the building. I called you before I headed over."

"So you haven't seen the likely object?" asked Ichabod.

"Maybe. There's a bluish object in the utility room sink, but it's hard to see what with all the water everywhere. I did find the person who first reported the water to buildings and grounds. It was a female faculty member who was using the utility room to get some water for a vase of flowers." Abbie pointed to the front doors. Wedged against the wall next to the doors, amidst stacks of sodden paper towels and semi-floating cleaning supplies, were some battered pink carnations. "I think those were the flowers."

"Very good," said Ichabod. "I guess it is time to do what I get paid for." He turned to walk up the flooded stairs.

"Wet trousers look good on you," said Abbie to his back. "Something to consider for your next night out."

Ichabod was not going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction and waded on.

The utility room was across the second-floor hallway and down a bit to the right from the stairway. There was water on the floor a good thirty feet down the hallway, but most of the water made its way into the stairwell, creating an impromptu waterfall. Ichabod splashed through the knee-high torrent towards the open door to the utility room. As he got closer, he was drenched from the spray of water exiting the small room. He held his hands over his eyes to keep the water out of them, and he could somewhat make out a blue object in the utility sink in one corner of the room.

He really couldn't get any wetter at this point, so he pushed through the spray of water and into the small room. The force of the water was amazingly strong, almost like a constant shower of gravel ricocheting off the walls. He hunched and pulled his jacket over his head, both to protect himself and to allow for better visibility. No longer distracted from water assaulting his face, he was able to pick up the distinct feel of a magicked object. It was a tingling sensation under his skin. He had inherited this ability from his father and, therefore, when his father had died, the ability to carry on the job of retrieving magicked objects and safely stowing them away.

He grabbed on to the support for some metal utility shelving to keep his footing, and he drew himself to the edge of the utility sink. He immediately got a jet of water full force towards his face, only the cloth of his jacket averting serious injury to his eyes. He moved more cautiously around the jet of water and noted the exact position of what was a blue bottle in the sink. Apparently, the force of the jet of water coming out of the bottle was pressing it solidly against one vertical side of the sink.

Ichabod strategized. If he simply pulled the bottle from the sink, it was likely to shoot out of his hands and do him some serious injury. He wouldn't be able to simply put one the bags specially made to neutralize spells over the bottle since the jet of water would just rip the bag out of his hands.

Ichabod took one of the bags out of his jacket pocket. It looked somewhat like a metallic ziploc bag with a sliding closure. It was made of a pliant but durable plastic, and the sheen was due to the special metallic inner coating. He made sure to keep a good grip on the bag against the violent sprays of water and lowered the open bag along the side of the sink. When he could feel the bottle against the bag, he put both hands around the bottle while holding the bag with four fingers. It would take a good sudden jerk to get the bag behind the bag, and if he wasn't careful, he could easily end up with broken fingers or worse.

He took a deep breath and mentally counted to three. On three, he pushed the bottle away from the side of the sink, using the four fingers to flip the opening of the bag behind the bottle's base. He almost immediately lost his grip on the wet bottle, but in that fraction of a second, he had managed to wedge the bag behind the bottle before it thudded heavily against the sink wall.

The hard part done, Ichabod now worked the sides of the bag around the base and with a series of tugs pulled the creased sides of the bag free from under the pressure of the bottle. The last of the bag finally pulled free, and the moment the sides of the bag fully surrounded the bottle, the jet of water stopped.

Ichabod stood there, his jacket plastered to his head and shoulders. He breathed deeply and could feel water pooling in his shoes. He tilted the bag so that the water that had accumulated inside could run out, and once the bag was reasonably empty of liquid, he slid the closure shut. He put the bag in the sink and let his hands loosen up before pulling his jacket properly back into place. He looked around the utility room, at the drenched walls, the pools of water on the swept-clean shelves, and the sink, much of it scoured to an amazing whiteness by the force of the water.

He picked the bag up and put it in his jacket pocket, which sagged shapelessly under the weight. He could feel the unpleasant chaffing of his wet underclothes pulling uncomfortably against his genitals as he turned to leave.

Abbie met him halfway up the water-covered stairs. "I take it our assumption was correct."

Ichabod nodded. "A particularly aggressive flower vase. Perhaps it didn't like the thought of harboring carnations."

Abbie gave him a once over. "On the other hand, the wet look really doesn't suit you."

Ichabod gave her a half-hearted laugh. Abbie would take care of the explanation for the water; he just needed to make it back to his car and hoped he wouldn't ruin the leather upholstery on the drive home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some vaguely explicit sex and some vaguely explicit death, including a flashback to a suicide.

Ichabod had returned from San Francisco University to his shop on Grant Avenue in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco with the bottle in hand (or rather, in the object bag). It was a shop that had belonged to the family since Gold Rush times, and no doubt there were many who were covetous of the large (at least for San Francisco) property. Ostensibly, this was an old-fashioned antique store. Below street level, however, was a large room of objects like the blue bottle. Above the shop was Ichabod's apartment.

Ichabod had dropped off the bottle, its spell neutralized for the time being, with his long-time assistant Meili and gone up to his apartment to shower. When he came back downstairs about a half an hour later, he found Meili behind the shop counter talking to someone through the doorway to the back office. Not for the first time, Ichabod found himself pausing at the foot of the apartment stairs to take in the scene before him. The late afternoon sun came through the shop windows, casting long shadows into the store and a glow around Meili's softly rounded face.

It was hard to believe that Meili had come to work for Ichabod over forty years ago. Ichabod had just lost both his parents, and he needed an assistant to run both the shop and the object inventory. He had put out feelers for an assistant, someone familiar with the world that he inhabited. Meili Brooks had come in to interview, a slight young woman, almost insubstantial with a flawless pale face and unspeaking eyes nearly hidden in the darkness of her black hair. It turned out that Meili's appearance belied a sharp mind and excellent organization. In addition, she had been raised by a witch, so she was used to the existence of spelled objects and people who aged much more slowly than the average person and lived far longer. 

Meili was no longer the tiny Chinese girl he had first hired. She was a more solid presence now, and not just because of the pounds that had come on with the years. Her gray-streaked hair and the increasingly deeper lines spoke of strength and toughness, both from having to deal with spelled objects but also from dealing with the odd customers in the market for antiques.

Meili turned when Ichabod walked fully into the room and told him, "Miss Jenny came right over, and she is almost finished analyzing the trigger."

Ichabod nodded at Meili and walked behind her to enter the room situated through a doorway behind the counter.

Jennifer Mills was Abbie Mills' sister and thus, by extension, also a longtime friend. She also served as Ichabod's consulting witch. Jennifer was older than Meili chronologically, but like Ichabod, she looked far younger. If a typical person on the street were to be asked about their ages, he would guess that both of them were in their thirties. Truth be told, Ichabod and Jennifer were both in their 70s. She maintained the appearance of a youthful but serious black woman, with a long face and angular features, a contrast to the roundness found in her sister's, but she shared the generally mischievous demeanor of her law enforcing sister, albeit not her sister's sarcastic tongue. Ichabod had first met both Abbie and Jennifer when he tried to pull Jennifer at a party. She had told him she was a witch, which almost had Ichabod abandoning the party forthwith, but they ended up talking, and they found each other interesting. After a fair amount of chit chat, Ichabod asked her to help him with a spelled object. Jennifer had consequently introduced him to Abbie. In one fell swoop, he had established a connection inside the SFPD and a witch to help him with his object retrieval work.

"Oh, hey Ichabod," Jennifer said in response to Ichabod's greeting. "Just about done and ready for Meili to process."

"So what's the trigger?" Ichabod asked.

Not all witches were good at analyzing spelled objects. It required high skill, keen observational skills (in all dimensions), and a good analytical mind. Jennifer had all three of these. "It looks to be a simple two-dimensional trigger," Jennifer explained. "There needs to be water in the vase, and the silver design on the vase needs to be polished."

Ichabod nodded. Clearly, both of these conditions had been met in that closet back at San Francisco University. Probably the woman preparing the vase for flowers had accidentally triggered the latent spell.

"So what was the effect of the partial?" she asked.

Ichabod proceeded to tell her about the flood, leaving out the dramatics involved in collecting the object. Jennifer undoubtedly already knew that he had returned to the shop showing signs of recently swimming in his clothes.

"It doesn't look to be specific," Jennifer continued. "The focus would be whatever was put in the vase. Makes sense to me."

While a reasonably skilled witch could figure out the triggers, only a highly skilled witch like Jennifer had the ability to figure out the second element required for a spell, the focus. And even for her it was not always a sure thing. In any case, no one would be playing with the triggers and focuses to figure out what would actually happen. As soon as Meili cataloged the item, it was going back into its bag to make sure the spell remained neutralized and placed into the basement.

Jennifer got up and stuck her head through the doorway. "All done, Meili." She turned and gave Ichabod a hug. "Well, I'm off. I have my own objects that need spelling. What are your plans for the evening?"

Ichabod shrugged and answered as he followed her back out into the shop. "I'll probably just head down to the Cigar Store." The Cigar Store was a neighborhood bar.

"Just a drink, a hookup, and a happy ending. In short...," Jennifer laughed.

"Nothing special," Ichabod agreed.

Melli had gone into the back office and re-emerged to hold the rectangular bottle up to the afternoon light. Swirls of royal blue seemed to rise to the surface of the otherwise clear bottle and then recede away again behind the rapidly tarnishing filigree of silver that overlay the entire object. "It is very beautiful," she said. "The temptation to polish the silver to make it shine is very strong."

"It is quite mesmerizing," agreed Jennifer. "Most objects are so ordinary. It's unusual to find such a lovely one."

Ichabod saw Jennifer to the door and then returned to the back office where Meili was already working at the computer to enter information about the bottle into the object database.

There was nothing else to do that required his attention, and Ichabod admitted to himself that a bit of a sit down after the exertions of the afternoon sounded very welcome. He was almost 80 after all, and if he was going to engage in some pleasurable activity later that evening, he should probably get some rest now.

"I'm going to go and put my feet up," Ichabod called out as he headed for the apartment stairs. "I'll see you tomorrow, Meili."

"Have a good evening, Mr. Ichabod," said Meili. "I'll lock up and then finish with the bottle."

Ichabod climbed the stairs to the apartment and decided that a nap actually sounded very attractive.

.....

Ichabod woke up later than usual the next morning, feeling like shit. Long-lived he may be, but he was not immune from the curse of the hangover. A glance at his clock showed that it was past nine. The shop was posted to open at ten.

After an embarrassingly long nap the previous afternoon (into early evening), he had had a bite to eat and then headed out to the Cigar Store as planned. He had chatted up a few people, downing a few pints along the way. He had decided to focus his energies on a blond with a full-throated laugh that resulted in her lovely and ample breasts jiggling in a most attractive way. There had been more drinks, lemon drop martinis if his taste memories could be trusted. A bottle of wine interspersed with foreplay on the living room sofa.

While there was a general haziness to the entire evening, certain details remained sharp. When revealed, her breasts were as lovely as he had hoped, and he remembered the feel of them under his lips and against his cheek. Her blond hair had not proven to be natural, which was somewhat disassociating as he moved from kissing her lips to other parts lower down. He remembered one particularly enthusiastic bucking of the hips on her part which had dislodged him and sent him off the bed and to the floor. He assumed the coupling was satisfactorily consummated. At least he didn't feel any of the lingering jitteriness that he typically had when he had been fiercely aroused but failed to find release.

With the attempt at reconstructing the previous evening completed, he did as he always did when he woke - he looked at his left thumb and the three black circles arranged in a triangle like a tattoo around the lowest joint. The irony was not lost on him. His primary job was to find spelled objects out in the world and put them securely out of circulation. Yet the three black circles made clear that he himself was a spelled object, cursed in triplicate, in fact, almost fifty years ago.

He had to admit that it was the worst after a night of drink and anonymous sex (as usual, one of the things he did not retain was the name the blond had given him). He would fall into thoughts about what had brought about the spells and what he could have done differently. And as he almost always did every morning (and, needless to say, the occasional afternoon), he finally said to himself, “Fuck it,” and pulled himself, in this instance quite gingerly, out of bed and headed for the bathroom to figure out how to start his day.

.....

He was pleased to find that his apartment looked intact albeit disheveled and he optimistically hoped that he looked better than that. Clearly they had vigorously moved around the apartment, and at some point he had let her out. He really needed to take life in greater moderation.

He brewed himself a pot of coffee and knocked a cup back as quickly as he could without scalding himself. Then he poured himself another, took two aspirin, and ate two slices of toast with peanut butter. It was now past ten. Meili would already be at the counter.

He made his way down the internal stairs to the shop, a third cup of coffee in hand. The lights in the shop were not yet on, and the shop sign was still turned to "Closed." However, the lights in the back office were on. Meili must have been a bit slow this morning as well. While it was not as if she had never come in late before, it was a rare enough occurrence that Ichabod felt a hint of anxiety.

"Good morning," he said as he walked behind the counter and headed towards the back office. He noted Meili's purse on the seat behind the counter. "Everything okay?"

He entered the back office. It was empty but the door to the basement was ajar. Meili must have needed to go down to the basement. Ichabod opened the basement door. The lights were on and he could see that there was no one in the storage space a few steps down. He walked down to the storage space and then down the flight to the basement proper. "Meili?" he called out. Silence.

Ichabod was feeling more nervous, but he told himself there was nothing to worry about. The basement door was warded. Only he, Meili, Jennifer, and Abbie could enter. While the basement was filled with spelled objects, all of them were neutralized. Nothing magical had ever happened in the basement in his life or his parents'. Nothing horrible could happen again. Nothing had happened now.

Ichabod reached the foot of the basement stairs. This was the repository for all the spelled objects that he and his father before him had found and neutralized. Storage shelves for the objects lined the walls on both sides of the long aisle that stretched the length of the building lot. But a sweeping glance over the large space immediately pulled his eyes to the far end of the room. Usually, it was just a large empty glass room, a transparent cube. His father had had the room with its six-inch thick glass walls, ceiling, and floor, and equally thick hermetically sealing door built as a precaution, a space that could be sealed either to escape the effect of a spell or to temporarily contain an activated spelled object. It was not empty now.

A familiar crumpling sound came from underfoot. He looked down and found he had stepped on an apparently empty spell neutralizing bag. He bent down to pick it up. It was indeed empty, but it had contained something. He read the label on the bag. "Blue Bottle. Item 2012-38."

He looked to the end of the room with different and now fully anxious eyes. This felt eerily familiar and yet different. What had seemed like the residual effects of his inebriated evening was actually looking through an expanse of water through thick layers of glass. He walked closer. It was like looking at an empty aquarium. For a moment, he felt a sense of relief that he could see nothing at the bottom of the glass cube. There was no body crumpled on the ground and blood splattered on the glass. Then he realized that this was all wrong and looked up to see Meili Brooks' lifeless eyes looking down at him through the water.


	3. Chapter 3

Ichabod called Abbie and Jennifer. Here was death and magic. The two women were his best friends but also the best people to help him deal with this.

Jennifer had cried out in shock when she arrived and saw Meili's body floating at the top of the cube. Abbie was much calmer as she appraised the situation.

"Are you okay?" asked Jennifer next. She looked at Ichabod with concern, and he knew that even though she had not been there, she was thinking of Ichabod's father.

"Not too good," said Ichabod. "At first, all I saw was my dad in that glass cube. It took a while before I actually saw what was in front of me. If I didn't know better, I'd think the cube was cursed."

Jennifer hugged Ichabod tightly while Abbie walked slowly around the glass room. Although she had known Meili as well as her sister, Abbie was taking on the role of a police officer looking at a crime scene.

"It's like a locked room mystery, isn't it, Crane?" Abbie contemplated. "There's only Meili inside the room plus a hell of a lot of water, which we assume came from the same object you collected at San Francisco University. Only there's no sign of the object inside the cube."

"Maybe she didn't have the bottle with her," Jennifer said but soon corrected herself. "She must have. Where else could the water come from?"

"And the bottle wouldn't have vanished, even if it was fully activated. It should be sitting at the bottom, just like it was at SFU," Ichabod muttered in frustration.

Abbie looked around the large room and noticed a familiar shape suspended from the ceiling near the entrance stairs at the far end. "Is that a security camera?"

Ichabod followed Abbie's gaze. He had forgotten all about the camera, it had been so long since he had looked at any footage. "It is," he replied. "It was installed when I did the shop security upstairs, but I've never had reason to look at the footage. No one has ever gotten into the basement."

"Where's the footage?" Abbie asked.

"It's on a secondary hard drive of the back office computer," Ichabod answered and then paused. "But first, can't we get Meili out of there?"

It was a crime scene, but not one that Abbie would want to call in the SFPD about. Abbie nodded.

"There's going to be a hell of a lot of water," Abbie noted. "We'll need to put up some boards to channel the water towards the drain, and it'll probably take a while for all of it to drain away."

Ichabod nodded. He looked miserably back into the cube.

Jennifer pulled him back close. "Look, why don't you get started on the security footage with Abbie, and I'll head over to North Beach Lumber and get plywood to protect the shelves and channel the water."

"Good idea," Abbie remarked. "The sooner we see the video, the sooner we know what happened down here."

.....

"Can you give me a hand with the lumber?" Jennifer called into the back office.

Ichabod and Abbie got up from the desk and went out front. As they followed Jennifer out the front door of the shop, Jennifer asked, "What did you find?"

"We're not sure," Ichabod answered. "You'll have to see the footage yourself. Maybe you'll have a clearer idea."

Jennifer looked puzzled, but Ichabod had no more to tell her. The next fifteen minutes were spent carrying six-foot lengths of plywood from the illegally-parked truck down the basement steps and leaning them against the ends of the shelves. They wouldn't stop some water from getting between the shelves, but aside from getting the floors wet, the objects should be elevated enough on the shelves to be safe.

When Jennifer had returned from putting the truck in a legal space down the street, Abbie said, "The water pressure is really strong, so I think all three of us will need to brace the door when we unseal it. Are you guys ready?"

Ichabod and Jennifer nodded. They braced their feet against the floor and their shoulders against the glass room door. Abbie disengaged the seal, and a trickle of water immediately began to seep out. Then she disengaged the door lock, and Ichabod could feel the door suddenly punch into his shoulder. Abbie had joined them, and together, they inched their feet back, allowing the door to open a crack. Now, a flood of water gushed out of the cube, drenching their feet and splashing off the floor. Ichabod couldn't help but think of the stairwell waterfall back at SFU as he watched the flood of water sluice into the aisle and against the plywood barriers, sloshing from side to side towards the other end.

The three held their positions, and while the level of water in the aisle splashed as high as the top of the plywood at times, the actual depth of the water did not seem to exceed a few inches. Water filled the aisle like a rectangular pond, but it was clear the water was draining away even as the room emptied. Not even five minutes had passed and the water level in the cube was down to less than a foot. Meili's body could be seen resting on the cube floor. When most of Meili's body was above the water, they allowed the door to swing fully open and the rest of the water, now just a gentle stream, to flow out.

Ichabod moved to gather up Meili's body, but Abbie stopped him with a hand. "We should take a look before we move her, Crane."

Ichabod allowed Abbie around him to enter the room. He watched Abbie kneel next to Meili's body, looking but not touching. Meili had settled on her stomach, and when Abbie finally rolled her over, water flowed out of her mouth.

"It looks like she died from drowning. There are no visible wounds, so it doesn't look like she was attacked first. It looks like she went in the cube willingly." Abbie looked up at Ichabod.

"It doesn't make any sense," Ichabod moaned.

.....

They had left Meili's body on one of the plywood sheets suspended between two of the small work tables in the basement. They were definitely not going to call the police, and once her body dried off somewhat, they were going to contact Henry Parrish at the Green Street Mortuary to come and collect her. They would work on a story for friends and family later.

Now, they were gathered around the computer monitor in the back office watching the security footage of the basement. The picture was somewhat grainy and greyscale, but it clearly showed Meili entering the basement with a bagged object in hand. She walked to a shelf unit about three shelves in and to the right and moved out of the camera's range. A second later, she came back into the aisle, hands empty.

"That's right about where the latest objects are being stored," Ichabod remarked to Jennifer. “The ones nearest the stairs are still pretty much empty for the time being. I don't know what I'm going to do when the room fills up."

Ichabod couldn't believe he was thinking about storage issues when they were viewing what were Meili's last minutes. He ground his palms into his eyes, and he felt again Jennifer's reassuring arm across his back.

"And now she's back," Abbie remarked. Indeed, Meili had walked behind the camera, ostensibly back up the stairs, but a minute later, she had come back down and walked back to the same shelving unit. "At first we thought she had forgotten something. But it's something else."

Jennifer looked in closer. The image was quite fuzzy, especially the further away the objects were from the camera. Meili came out from the shelving unit with an object that had the right shape for the blue bottle in her left hand. There was a slight flash of light to Meili's right.

"That looks like her dropping an object bag," Ichabod said. "I stepped on the one for the blue bottle when I was down there."

In the video, Meili walked to the far end of the room and apparently into the glass cube. She bent over and then stood up, and a darker smudge stayed in the middle of the cube floor. It looked like she had left the bottle inside the cube.

Then Meili once again walked towards the camera and behind it.

Meili appeared for her final extended appearance a few minutes later. This time, she moved hesitatingly down the aisle. She looked down at the object bag on the floor, and then she appeared to notice the object inside the cube. Ichabod couldn't make any sense of any of it. She moved slowly at first toward the cube, but then she walked more purposefully. She walked through the door on the side and entered the cube. She bent over, and it looked like she picked up the bottle. The cube was far away from the camera and not well lit, so the image was more an impression than clear details.

Ichabod had already watched what happened next twice, so he turned to watch Jennifer's face as she watched the footage for the first time. Jennifer scowled and then she looked puzzled, and then her face filled with horror as she realized that she was watching Meili struggle with the fact that the cube was filling with water.

"You don't have to watch to the end," Ichabod said. "It was horrible, and I'm just glad it is too fuzzy to actually see her clearly."

"What did you see, Jenny?" Abbie prompted her sister.

"I'm not sure," said Jennifer. She sat back and closed her eyes, her arms crossed across her chest. "It looked like she had a fit, like she was jerking around. I could see when the door closed, and Meili continued to jerk as she moved away from the door. And then it was like she was holding herself against the side of the cube farthest from the door. I got a sense of the water filling the cube, but it was like a reflection of light or the movement of shadow. I saw her kicking and flailing against the water, but she stayed against the far wall."

"She's eventually carried up to the top of the cube by the water, and she continues to flail," Abbie said. "And then she’s still, and her body starts to sink. And after a while, her body floats back to the top of the cube."

"Oh god," sighed Jennifer, tears evident in her voice. "I'm sorry. She's the only one in there. I don't see anything that looks like a spell. But I can't believe that she would..."

"I know," said Ichabod. "I thought..."

"We just don't know," stated Abbie. "What I do know is that the bottle was in that room, and at some point, it just plain disappears."


	4. Chapter 4

There was essentially no one at the funeral. It was Ichabod, Jennifer, Abbie, and a clean-cut young Asian man who introduced himself as Meili's nephew, Andy. The service was a simple one in a small room at the Green Street Mortuary, not far from the shop. The funeral home director said a few words over the draped pine box. Then he pressed a button and the coffin lowered to the crematorium. Andy would take the ashes later to the Columbarium in the western part of the city, where his aunt's remains would join his mother's in a niche on the second floor. 

Ichabod remembered Meili going to her sister's funeral a while back. Her name was Kate or Kathy, and Meili had told Ichabod that Meili had been adopted. Kate or Kathy had never married but had also adopted. From what Ichabod gathered, Kate or Kathy had not been Chinese, had been living in the San Francisco suburbs, and had died from cancer. 

Henry from the mortuary had helped to moved Meili's body back to her apartment without anyone seeing. He had helped Jennifer clean her and dress her in her night clothes and put her back in her bed. They had then quietly left, allowing Ichabod to show up at the apartment at mid-day, the concerned boss wondering why his hardworking assistant had not shown up for work and was not responding to phone calls. Abbie had arranged for a death certificate indicating death from natural causes, and Ichabod had then called Andy, Meili's emergency contact, to let him know that his aunt had died peacefully in her sleep. 

"Thank you both for coming," he said, shaking their hands after it was all over. "Aunt Mei loved working with you. She would talk about the shop and the customers and the antiques whenever I saw her. And one of you is the sister - the police officer, right?" Abbie pointed to herself, and Andy nodded. He then looked around at the otherwise empty room before continuing. "She was always a very private person, and I guess she didn't make friends easily. It was really hard when mom died, so you all meant a lot to her." 

"She was a lovely woman. Your mom was Meili's sister," Abbie asked. 

Andy nodded. The funeral director had already departed, so the three of them made their way out to the street. "Adopted sister. I mean Meili was adopted. Just like me. They actually grew up here in San Francisco, but when I came along, mom decided to move to the suburbs. Aunt Mei said my mom thought the city was too rough for a puny Chinese kid, and we ended up in Fremont." 

"Clearly you survived," Ichabod commented. He noticed the young man liked to talk. 

Andy let out a half-laugh. "Fremont wasn't paradise, but I can't complain. Mom always reminded me that I had a pretty good life, and I definitely had a great mom and a great aunt. They supported me in everything I wanted to try." He stopped and looked away, and it was clear he was forcing himself to keep his eyes open wide to stop the dampness there from coalescing into tears.

"What are you studying?" asked Ichabod. 

Andy looked uncertain for a moment but quickly rallied. "Ah, the curse, or should I say blessing, of Asian genetics. I actually got a Master’s degree in comparative literature almost five years ago. Not the most practical of degrees since I really never wanted to teach, but mom let me do what I wanted, and that's where I ended up straying."

"My apologies on the degree," said Ichabod.

"Now, now," Andy smiled, "it's not completely wasted. My mom always said that intelligence was sexy."

"Getting a degree and intelligence," countered Ichabod, "do not necessarily go hand in hand."

"Touché," agreed Andy. "I guess I can really only claim to be very well read then."

"So what do you do?" asked Jennifer.

"Assuming you do do something," interjected Ichabod. He caught Abbie's raised eyebrow, and he admitted that was a bit arch of him to say to someone he had just met.

Andy, however, did not seem to mind. "I have parlayed my graduate degree into being an office manager for the prestigious law firm of Irving and Irving."

"We know them, don't we Jenny?" said Abbie.

"Frank and Cynthia," responded Jennifer. "Of course."

“My parents knew them quite well, I believe,” added Ichabod.

"Small world," said Andy.

They were now standing on the sidewalk in the late afternoon sunshine. Ichabod was thinking how to extricate himself and the sisters without seeming insensitive. But before he could do so... 

"I was wondering if I could take you out for coffee or tea and a pastry or something," Andy said. "It's a Chinese thing to have something sweet after a funeral, to take away the bitter taste of death." 

There was no polite way to refuse, so shortly thereafter, Ichabod found himself with the other three in a truly nondescript coffee shop with bare off-white walls, white Formica tables, and chairs in cracked red vinyl, but a good amount of custom. Also the inexplicable name of Sunny Q.

"I know it looks like a dive," Andy shrugged as they approached the counter, "but Aunt Mei always took me here when I dropped by, and I kind of love their apple pie." He was quick to follow that with, "But it's really nothing special, and it's not like regular apple pie at all. The crust is made with lard, and who knows what's holding the filling together. You probably wouldn't like it." 

Ichabod was inwardly amused at Andy's apologetic defense of his pie, but knowing himself and his somewhat particular tastes, decided not to risk hurting Andy's feelings by ordering and then not appreciating the pie, and asked for a dozen donut holes with a cup of tea. Abbie and Jennifer, of course, had to show him up by ordering the pie. 

The order was put on the counter within seconds, and they sat down with their desserts and hot drinks. 

"Meili has mentioned you," Ichabod said while the others were taking their first bites of pie, "but she made it sound like you were in some far off country. And here you were having pie with her not five blocks from the shop on a regular basis." 

"Different, but in a good way," commented Abbie. "The crust is fantastic - light and flaky. The filling is firmer than I'm used to, but good flavor. Corbin would like it." August Corbin was Abbie's retired mentor in the force. Corbin's appreciation of apple pie a la mode was well known. 

Andy smiled. "That's the lard, and I like that it's not too sweet." 

Jennifer nodded in agreement. After swallowing her second bite, she turned to Ichabod and asked, "Want a bite?" 

Ichabod shook his head and ate his donut holes. They were airy with a bit of crunch under the layer of sugar. They were perfect. 

Andy took up the conversation again. "I've walked by the shop loads of times, and Aunt Mei has shown me around, but she told me not to interrupt her while she was working. I've never seen you in the shop though." 

"Trying to find out about the insalubrious character your aunt was working with?" Ichabod asked. 

"Not exactly, but Aunt Mei talked enough about you that I was curious to catch a glimpse." 

"And how do I measure up?" At that, Andy looked up from his pie, and he had a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

Abbie did nothing to hide her smirk. Ichabod was glad she was sitting next to Andy. He didn't think Andy noticed her expression. He wondered if Jennifer next to him had a similar expression. He didn't dare look. 

"Taller and quieter than I expected," Andy responded. "To hear Aunt Mei, you were quite chatty, but then again, she was hardly a talker herself." 

At that, Abbie had to laugh. Jennifer just smiled. Ichabod scowled at Abbie. Andy blushed and looked down at his empty plate. A silence fell on the group. 

"Well. Thanks for taking the time to have something sweet with me," Andy said, standing up. "And thanks for being so good to Aunt Mei." 

"She was a lovely woman, and I don't know how I'm going to function without her," said Ichabod. 

"It was good to meet you," said Jennifer and gave Andy a hug. Without hesitation, Andy hugged her back.

"Likewise," said Abbie, shaking his hand in both of hers. 

They walked out of the café, and Andy waved goodbye and walked in the other direction from the shop. Ichabod watched him go. 

When Andy had disappeared around a corner, Abbie burst out laughing, "Crane, you are so predictable. He couldn't have been more perfect if he had been made for you. Asian, smart, not too young. I could see it in your eyes the moment you laid eyes on him."

"It was rather obvious," commented Jennifer.

Ichabod retorted, "If I recall the conversation correctly, he was flirting back. It was harmless banter."

"It was a funeral," said Abbie.

Ichabod simply punched Abbie in the shoulder with a bit of heat and walked ahead, leaving both Abbie and Jennifer smirking in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly sexy times in this chapter, but it moves the story along.

It was a little more than three weeks after Meili's inexplicable death. Ichabod refused to even countenance the idea that Meili would kill herself, let alone in such a bizarre fashion. The video from the security camera was still inscrutable as far as he was concerned, but he had watched it more than enough. He had Abbie back up the security video for that day before it could be overwritten, and the DVD was stored safely in the store safe.

As he anticipated, Meili's organization and quiet reliability were sorely missed right away. He didn't really care that he had to close the shop more often than before, but the cataloging of objects was falling behind on top of the inventorying of merchandise for the store itself. He was the first to admit that his computer skills were lacking not from ability but from interest.

Abbie found him at the computer, reading Jennifer's notes about an object's trigger rather than typing anything in.

"You thought the information just showed up in the database by magic, didn't you?" she commented, leaning herself against the counter.

"She was magic," groused Ichabod. He put the notes down and stared at the screen.

"What you need, Crane, is a new assistant."

"I know that!" Ichabod said with exasperation as he turned to glare at her.

"Now, now. That is not your best look."

Ichabod caught the look of satisfaction in Abbie's eyes. "What are you up to?" he scowled.

"Also not a good look on you. And frowning will bring about premature wrinkles on your forehead."

Ichabod immediately smoothed out his face. Abbie knew his weaknesses. "What are you up to?" he said again, this time blandly and with as little forehead wrinkling as he could control.

"I have found you an assistant."

Ichabod was immediately suspicious. "Where?"

"Funny you should start with that question. As a matter of fact, I met him at a funky little coffee shop in the neighborhood."

Ichabod raised an eyebrow in question but immediately smoothed out his expression when he noticed this caused him to also furrow his forehead.

"In fact," Abbie continued, "I've run into him several times and had some very interesting conversations with him. Curious, isn't it, that he is working for a law firm that happens to have several witches as partners. And, I happen to know that he is losing his current employment with said law firm in a few weeks, downsizing is the rumor, and I think he could be interested."

Ichabod finally realized who she was talking about just as she added, "Although it might be distracting to have him around all the time, given your previous reaction."

"You've been meeting with Meili's nephew on a regular basis?" Ichabod sputtered.

"Let's just say I was screening employees for you. And it's Andy, remember?"

Ichabod glowered at her, not caring if his forehead resembled a pleated window shade.

They stood and sat in silence for a good long minute. Ichabod lost the battle of silence, as usual. "You think he can deal with all of this?" he finally asked.

"It doesn't sound like Meili told him anything about magic, but he has been one step away from it for years, and he seems to be bright, personable, intelligent." Abbie gave Ichabod a very pointed look and added, "And open to new experiences."

Ichabod sat in thought. Finally he admitted, "He is my type."

"So ask him on a date, get it out of your system, and then offer him a job."

Abbie really knew him too well. It was a good plan.

.....

Abbie, of course, had Andy's number readily at hand, pulled from Meili's file. Ichabod was prone to dither about things like this (an ill-defined set of things at best), but the chaos of the shop and desk forced his hand. Andy was delighted to hear from Ichabod, at least to judge by the enthusiasm in his voice, and Ichabod soon manipulated the phone conversation into an exchange of innuendo and verbal foreplay. He was very good at that, and Andy proved a willing player. Ichabod was a bit taken aback, however, when Andy ended the call with laughter and a barely delivered, "The game is on.”

......

Ichabod dressed to seduce, and he was not disappointed to see Andy made a careful appraisal of his well-fitted wool slacks that Ichabod knew displayed both front and rear to good advantage.

"You look... fantastic," Andy smiled. "Dinner will definitely be scenic."

"The view from over here is quite good, too." While Ichabod could say these words with a straight face regardless of what he thought of the recipient's appearance, he was actually being honest. Andy might look like a college freshman at first glance, but it was clear his clothes were chosen as a continuation of their phone conversation. The pants were snug in very good places, and in addition to the obvious attractions at waist level, Ichabod appreciated the muscle of his thighs and calves. Andy's pale blue pinstripe shirt was cut trim and somehow managed to show nary a wrinkle while displaying a nicely defined chest.

This exchange had taken place in front of the restaurant. Ichabod now moved to hold the door open to the restaurant for Andy, not just to be gallant but to allow for a more thorough look at his very nice ass.

Dinner passed with light banter and a lot of clear admiration on both sides of the table. Andy had quickly disabused him of using Andrew. He swore that was the name on his birth certificate and came from his Chinese name, An Di, which translated roughly as "peaceful land." Andy talked about working at the law firm (not much at all) and his Aunt Mei, (whose name actually used the characters for "beautiful strength" rather than the more prosaic "great beauty"), and Ichabod talked about the antiques business and recounted time-tested stories about some of his more peculiar customers that had amused others before. All of this, of course, was simply foreplay, and when they had put down their napkins in preparation to leave the restaurant, Ichabod could tell that both of them were fidgeting in anticipation.

Ichabod paid for dinner, and Andy was hosting dessert at his apartment. Ichabod had chosen a restaurant just a few blocks from Andy's address in the Mission District. Both of them walked with their hands in their pants, and they didn't say much. Occasionally they looked at each other, and Andy often smiled. Ichabod noticed they were walking by Mission Dolores, and he was a bit surprised when they turned the corner just past the mission's cemetery.

Andy let Ichabod into a typical San Francisco redwood apartment building, built not long after the turn of the 20th century. He followed Andy up a flight of stairs that were open to the air and to the door of an apartment on the third floor.

Ichabod took a moment to take in Andy's apartment as they took off their jackets. It was clearly just one large room with a kitchen and a bathroom off the entryway. There was a mix of some older furniture with flat-box stuff from Ikea, a step up from a dorm but not much. Books and papers were piled around a desk in the entryway. There were a few framed pictures, one of Meili with a toddler that had to be Andy. Another was of Andy at a graduation ceremony - college or high school, it wasn't clear - with his arms around his aunt and a red-headed woman of Meili's age that was probably Andy's mother. Ichabod's perusal was interrupted by a pair of hands cupping his face and a warm body moving to press into him.

Andy definitely did not kiss like a college boy, no matter how young he looked. Ichabod had had plenty of those, and they were generally too energetic, although their enthusiasm often compensated for their lack of subtlety. Andy, in contrast, was all subtlety. There was a brush of lips, a swipe of tongue. Hands moved behind his neck and fingers stroked down beneath his collar. Andy's warmth pressed against him but not fully. He wasn't of Ichabod's height, but somehow everything seemed to be nestling together just fine. Ichabod could tell Andy was already hard, but Andy held himself slightly away so that his hardness was a fleeting sensation.

Andy let out what could only be called a moan, a low exhalation that came from deep in his throat, when Ichabod pushed into his mouth with his tongue. With that, Andy pulled himself tightly against Ichabod, and Ichabod could feel the length of Andy's cock hard along his hip.

When they paused, Ichabod opened his eyes. He had been savoring the feel of Andy and hadn't realized he had closed his eyes to focus on that. When he looked at Andy, he saw a boyish face with devilish eyes. For Ichabod, it was a heady combination.

Andy led Ichabod into the single room, dominated by the queen-sized futon bed. Andy allowed Ichabod to undress him, standing and watching as Ichabod undid buttons, a belt, and a zipper, running his hands over the flesh that was exposed with each undoing. Ichabod loved that Andy was comfortable in being totally naked while Ichabod had yet to remove anything. Ichabod pulled the trim and tight body against him and kissed Andy, running his hands down the gentle ripples of Andy's spine and over the swell of his ass. Ichabod moved Andy onto the bed, and he kissed his lips again before kissing his way down the smooth torso, the flat stomach, and into the thatch of coarse black hair above his cock.

Andy arched when Ichabod took him into his mouth and he exhaled "Oh" with each consequent stroke. Ichabod enjoyed Andy's hands tensing in his hair, Andy's hitches of breath, his increasingly loud vocal exclamations, and the way his stomach heaved in and out. Ichabod loved the fact that Andy just let him do this to him. Andy didn't make him stop so that he could reciprocate. Andy just let him consume him, and he didn't say anything when he was about to come, as if he trusted that Ichabod could read the signs of his body and would pull off if he didn't want Andy to come in his mouth.

When Andy came, it was with a full-throated shout. Ichabod savored the salty tang on his tongue, but he relished even more the shudders in Andy's body each time he pulled him again fully into his mouth.

When Andy stopped moving, Ichabod looked up at him, and Andy was looking down at him and smiling. Andy smiled a lot. Ichabod liked men who enjoyed sex.

Finally, Ichabod stood up and undressed, Andy watching as he did so. Andy's eyes followed each reveal, but his eyes flicked up to meet Ichabod's when Ichabod had finally divested himself of his boxers and Andy saw his cock. Andy smiled, and there was definitely a lasciviousness in his eyes.

When Ichabod moved back down on the bed and placed his hands beneath Andy's thighs to make his intentions clear, Andy let out a bright laugh and seemingly out of nowhere, a condom and a bottle of lube landed next to Ichabod on the bed.

Ichabod spent a leisurely time teasing open Andy's hole. Andy laughed and moaned around his fingers in equal measure, and Ichabod was struck once again about how much Andy was not a college boy. College boys lay back and let Ichabod do all the work. Andy was thrusting onto Ichabod's fingers as much as he was twisting them into Andy.

When Ichabod finally was fucking Andy, he found himself engaged in a dance. For a while he would be driving into Andy from above, his hands holding onto Andy's ankles, and leaning forward every few strokes for a tongue-deep kiss. Then he would find himself flipped onto his back, with Andy leaning over him, hands on the bed frame to give him the leverage to grind his ass onto his cock. Andy grunted. Andy groaned. And Andy laughed. Andy came with another shout, splashing on Ichabod's chest. Ichabod thrust up into Andy after that, again and again until his own liberating pleasure erased any other thought or sensation from his mind.

.....

A while later, both were sitting up in bed eating sea salt chocolate caramels. Andy had insisted there could never be too much dessert.

With physical desire temporarily sated, Andy had fallen into thoughts of his aunt and his mother. "Neither of them talked about their mother. From what little they were willing to cough up, their father abandoned them not long after my mom was born. And my grandmother, so to speak, was no mother of the year. She adopted Aunt Mei to essentially be a slave around the house. Mom got her out of there as soon as she could, when she got the job with you. Mom said her mother was abusive, and I was better off never having known her. I don't even know what she looked like. After her mother died, that's when mom decided to adopt me and moved us to Fremont."

"Was that hard on Meili, you being so far away?" Ichabod asked.

"It wasn't that far. We came up to the city all the time, well at least I did, and Aunt Mei came down for holidays. We were on BART all the time. So I don't think so."

"What did your mom do?"

"She was a financial planner. She said it was interesting, but she always encouraged me to do something creative. I was majoring in art and then journalism before I ended up in comparative lit."

"I have to admit that on you, intelligence is definitely sexy."

"Mom was usually right."

Ichabod felt a little jealous of the close relationship between Andy and his mother. "I actually didn't know my parents that well," admitted Ichabod. "I spent a good part of my childhood in boarding schools in England, where my mother was from. When I returned to San Francisco to join the family business after university, I would say relations were strained between my parents. Then my mother died quite tragically in a building fire where she worked, and my dad took that very hard. He declined precipitously after her death and ended up taking his own life."

There was a long silence, and Ichabod wondered what had possessed him to share so much with Andy, particularly given the gruesomeness of the details.

"I can see some disadvantages to post-coital conversation," remarked Andy as he rested a warm hand on Ichabod's bare chest.

"Sorry. That was a bit oppressive for pillow talk, wasn't it?" He appreciated Andy's lightening of the mood. There was a pleasant sense of domesticity and intimacy about this, the two of them sitting companionably naked in bed eating chocolates and talking, but Ichabod knew he had to break the spell of the moment. After a pause that showed that Andy had finished speaking for now, Ichabod cleared his throat to speak.

"Throat clearing," commented Andy. "Always a grave sign after a very enjoyable sexual encounter. Usually a prelude to the announcement of an STD or a peculiarly off-putting predilection."

"It's not quite a joke," said Ichabod, not really wanting to proceed. "It's just that this has been a wonderful evening, an exceptional evening, but..."

Andy interrupted him with a smile. "You don't do relationships. I know. Abbie warned me."

"She did?"

"She told me not long after the funeral. Said it was shameful how we were flirting at such a solemn event. Told me the lay of the land if I really was going to take it further."

Ichabod sighed.

"I was planning to videotape the whole thing," bantered Andy, "since I knew I would only get the one chance, but that felt a bit too stalkerish. Now I'm feeling a bit of regret I didn't get the tech together."

Ichabod pulled Andy close. He loved the openness of Andy's youthful face, his mischievous eyes, the smoothness of his almost hairless skin under his fingers.

As if Ichabod had said these thoughts out loud, Andy was stroking his cheek, saying, "I've always found a well-groomed mustache and beard very attractive. And I'm very thankful to have experienced the entire lovely and lean package. You would have made a very dashing pirate."

"One more round then to cement this evening in your memory, given the lack of video equipment?" Ichabod asked, dragging his lips over Andy's.

"Definitely," moaned Andy.

.....

They finished off the caramels. Andy licked the melted chocolate off his fingers and then turned to Ichabod. "So, given my pending unemployment, can we talk about working in the shop now?"

Ichabod laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

The store had been in the same location for almost a hundred and fifty years although it had humble beginnings, serving as a pawn shop in its earliest years in a modest storefront on what was then Dupont Street. A pawn shop served both as a viable business and as the nexus of a constant flow of objects, some which indeed had been spelled. In the later 1880s, the shop became "Crane's Antiquities, Curiosities, and Revelations". The biggest physical change had occurred with the rebuilding of the store after the horrific fires that followed the 1906 earthquake. Spelled objects resist destruction, and it was quite a salvage job to reassemble the objects buried in the ashes of the old shop. Ichabod's father had taken it quite hard that several objects had gone missing in the chaos. That's when Ichabod's father had put in the "modern" storage area in the basement, including the glass room, and had the building on the street level redone with an updated facade and a more efficient layout both for the shop and for the apartment above. And so the shop largely remained with regular coats of paint, new windows, and largely unseen improvements such as modern wiring and plumbing. For Ichabod, the store as it stood today was an unvarying part of his life. 

The wood and stucco facade of the shop was dominated by three large plate glass windows, two to the left of the shop door and one to the right. "Crane's" was written in black script on the left window nearest the door, the words outlined in gold paint, with "Antiquities, Curiosities, and Revelations" in small black letters beneath. Behind the two windows of the left, passersby could look directly into the shop and its assemblage of bookcases, console tables, dining room sets, secretaries, and china cabinets. On nearly every flat surface was something else for sale - lamps, porcelain figurines, silverware, crystal flower frogs, a brightly colored ashtray. The shop was deep compared to its length, and the depths of the shop fell into a shaded mystery, at least as viewed from the street. The right window was a shallow display window. Currently, the window contained a display of 19th century tin soldiers, arrayed in a battle scene out of the American Revolutionary War.

As one entered the shop, just past the entrance and to the right, immediately behind the display window was the shop counter. It was a long oak glass display case with a glass counter top. Behind the counter, against the wall, was a wooden working surface on which rested the modern cash register, a cordless phone in its dock, and a somewhat older desktop computer monitor and keyboard. 

Andy was seated behind the counter working on the older desktop. "You know," he said, "if you got a laptop, you could work anywhere in the store. Then you wouldn't have to write down the information on slips of paper to type up." 

Ichabod was in the back office, mostly out of view of the shop but within close hailing distance of the person at the desk. Ichabod was dutifully working at entering information about a spelled antique Bible he had retrieved the day before. "Laptops are attractive to thieves and too easy to steal off the counter. It's like having an unattractive older car to park at the BART station. I'd rather have something that works that people ignore." 

"It depends on your definition of 'works'," replied Andy. 

Andy had started work the week after their night together, but, in fact, Ichabod had seen him almost every day in between when he would stop by after working on clearing out his aunt's apartment. Andy had ended up giving most of his aunt's things away, but he brought by some things that he thought Ichabod might want to sell. Interestingly, Meili had possessed a spelled mirror, and according to Jennifer, it was spelled to a specific individual and probably contained a spell to show one's true love in the glass. As Jennifer often commented, there was a real lack of imagination when it came to most spells, and Walt Disney had a lot to answer for. There were also boxes of papers and family mementos, and since Andy was traveling by bus, Ichabod let him store the boxes in the shop to transport bit by bit since Andy refused to have Ichabod just drive them all to his place in the Mission.

Andy seemed to have accepted the one-night stand for what it was, and Andy had not been awkward about things afterwards. Ichabod had gotten that rush of desire out of his system, but he admitted to himself that in a different world, he would have allowed himself to seek for more. Andy openly flirted with him, but he kept a distance as well. 

Currently, Andy was still finishing up some work for Irving and Irving, so he was not in the shop for regular business hours yet. However, he made a point of coming in every day, and Ichabod had started him on updating the inventory of the shop itself.

It had not taken long, however, before, Andy began asking about the objects that Ichabod brought back and inventoried in the back office. Andy asked if they were part of a personal collection, and Ichabod said that he would find out soon enough. Andy had also looked at the door to what he knew was the basement, but he had somehow refrained from asking about it, which Ichabod found somewhat suspicious in and of itself. It seemed so contrary to the nature of the man he was getting to know. 

So far, it had not been hard to keep the full nature of the business from Andy, but Ichabod knew that he would need to bring Andy in on things soon enough. Ichabod was sure that doing inventory was a step down from managing a busy law office, but Andy had obviously taken the job because he knew there was more to it than appeared on the surface. Abbie had been right. When Ichabod had casually raised the topic of the existence of magic and whether or not there were such things as witches or immortal beings, Andy did not scoff and had simply told him that he didn't know. He had no direct experience, but he said the world was a large place. The answers reflected a person who wouldn't totally reject the idea of magic and spelled objects, or the idea of witches or other people who were outside the definition of normal. 

In a few weeks, Andy would be done with Irving and Irving and begin working full time in the shop. Andy did raise an eyebrow when Ichabod quoted him a wage. He was too smart not to know this was far higher than any mere shop clerk should be making. When he was there full time, it would be impossible to hide the purpose of Jennifer's visits and consultation on the objects Ichabod retrieved. Right now, Andy was away from the shop often enough that Ichabod could work with Jennifer on the catalog when Andy wasn't there, planning how best to bring Andy fully into things. 

But it was probably going to be sooner rather than later if Ichabod were to gauge the situation on the number of looks Andy cast his way. 

Ichabod's cell phone rang. It was Abbie. 

After a quick greeting, Abbie said, "I have the people working in a lab in Chinatown feeling faint every time they approach a corner of the lab. One of them was already taken to St. Francis. Nothing came up when they did a test of the air in the lab, but they can't examine the corner of the lab because no one can stay coherent when they get close. I'm pretty sure this is one of yours, Crane." 

Ichabod answered, "Give me the address, and I'll be right there." As he wrote down the details, he could feel Andy watching him. This was pretty close by. It wasn't a life-threatening situation as far as he could tell from Abbie's description. It was probably a good time to take Andy out to see things first hand. 

Ichabod hung up and called out, "I'm going to put this Bible away and then we're going out on a field trip." 

"Where are we going?" responded Andy with a clear eagerness in his voice. 

"You're going to find out what these other things I bring in to the shop are." 

..... 

"So you mean this lab might be under some kind of magic spell." 

They were walking up Grant Avenue, having crossed Columbus Avenue into Chinatown. The more esoteric nature of the stretch of Grant Avenue in North Beach had given way to Chinese markets, restaurants, kitchen suppliers, and bakeries. The leisurely pedestrian had also become the purposeful householder, generally an elderly Chinese woman with shopping bags and an aggressive elbow. 

"Not the lab per se," Ichabod commented. "It's probably something in the lab." 

"How will you be able to tell?" Andy asked. 

"I can sense it." 

Andy walked in quiet for a half a block, his eyes focused on avoiding running into anything but not really looking at anything in particular. Ichabod only glanced sideways at him from time to time, giving the crowded street most of his attention. In addition to the serious shoppers, the sidewalks were obstacle courses of merchandise stands and boxes of produce being unloaded from delivery trucks. 

"Is this an innate skill, or is this something you're going to teach me?" asked Andy. 

"Sorry. You have to be born with it," answered Ichabod. "Not always inherited, I should add. My father realized I had the skill when so many of the odd things I collected as a very young child had been spelled." 

"So whatever this is, your dad did it before you." 

"It's now a family business under contract with the local witches to keep unsupervised magic, namely spelled objects, out of circulation." 

"Good," said Andy somewhat cryptically. "So, are all your special items in the back room and in the basement stuff covered in spells?" 

"More or less," said Ichabod. 

"Dangerous?" asked Andy. 

"Some more than others," said Ichabod. 

"So Aunt Mei knew about all this stuff, huh?" 

Ichabod nodded. 

"So how did she get the job? Did your dad hire her?" 

Ichabod faltered. "Clearly there are other things we'll need to get cleared up. My dad died before Meili began working for the shop. And she was referred to me by friends of friends. With your mother's encouragement, obviously." 

Andy looked at him with a stunned expression. "You've been her boss all along? But she's been working for you since before I was born!" 

"We'll talk about that soon. We are here." They had arrived at a doorway wedged between two produce markets. It had a battered aluminum door with a push bar and glass panels above and below. A plastic sign was affixed to the upper panel that said, "Golden City Laboratories," with Chinese characters below the English. Andy was glaring at him but pulled the door open and allowed Ichabod to lead the way. 

The lab was located behind a glass doorway on the second level. There was a tiny room beyond the door with a small white metal desk, like something from a doctor's examination room. There was no one in the room, but there was noise through a doorway to the right. 

It looked like a serious crime scene with blood splashed all over a lab bench in one corner of the room. Daylight came through a grime-coated window over the bench, one that probably overlooked a central light well. A middle-aged man in a lab coat was seated well away from the bench holding an ice pack against his forehead. Abbie was talking with lab workers next to her. 

"It looks worse than it is," remarked Abbie when she saw them enter." She nodded to Andy and quipped to Ichabod, "Hello young Mr. Grayson. I hope Mr. Wayne is treating you well and not abusing your wardly status." 

Ichabod ignored Abbie and the look Andy was giving him. He was focusing his attention on the bench area in the corner. 

"Ignore the blood," Abbie said. "The lab guy somehow broke a vial of blood before he fainted dead away. He's over at St. Francis for observation. All that one over there did was bump his head against the leg of his stool on the way to the floor when he went to help his unconscious colleague. No major injuries here." 

Ichabod nodded. He looked over the lab bench. Although it was full of paraphernalia, none of it was the object. But he could sense it. He looked up, and he found it. A frankly hideous chartreuse flower pot on the window sill, containing a rather spindly looking miniature rose plant. 

They were standing about ten feet from the plant on the window sill. 

"How close to the window before they feel faint?" Ichabod asked. 

"About four feet," Abbie responded. "You can see the lab guy was only about two feet away. Apparently, it all happened just after he broke the lab sample. They finally dragged him out of the kill zone by his feet." 

Ichabod asked Abbie to clear the room, and she and the lab workers retreated to the entry area. 

"Andy," Ichabod said. "I need you to run to the lab bench, grab that potted plant, pot and all, on the window sill and throw it into the air in my direction. You'll have to do it in one smooth movement. Don't hesitate or you'll just end up unconscious on the floor. I'm hoping we can avoid that." 

Andy looked ready to ask questions, but he didn't. He looked at the plant and walked over to where there was a clear path down the aisle. "Tell me when." 

Ichabod removed a spell neutralizing bag from his pocket, unfolded and unzipped it and held it open with two hands. He looked at Andy and then the plant. "Go." 

Andy ran the short distance and with one hand grabbed the plant off the sill, twisted, and threw it into the air. Unfortunately, the plant started spinning and dirt flew in all directions, including into Ichabod's eyes. Ichabod held the bag open where he thought the plant was heading as he was forced to close his eyes, and he was relieved to feel a weight fall into the bag. Then he was hit full face with a sizable clot of dirt. 

Ichabod had zipped the bag closed reflexively, so he was still conscious and able to use his arm to brush dirt from his face. Not to mention the dirt he needed to spit out of his mouth. 

"Oh my god, that was better than a pie in the face," Andy was laughing. He was also using his handkerchief to brush the remaining dirt from Ichabod's face. 

When Ichabod finally felt safe to open his eyes, Andy was standing there in front of him. "So this was the case of a diabolical flower pot then?" 

"We're both still standing, aren't we?" Ichabod tried to give Andy an offended look. Andy only laughed in response. 

"And what exactly does the ziploc do?" Andy asked, pointing at the metallic bag. 

"It neutralizes a partially activated spell." 

"I take it you will explain exactly what that means at a later date?" 

"Spelling 101 will be offered later in the term. For now, we clear out of here." 

Ichabod gave the all clear, and the lab workers looked in horrified silence at the dirt all over the room when they re-entered. 

"Tell them there was a noxious and chemically unstable element in the flower pot. There was an accident when we were removing it," Ichabod said to Abbie as an aside. 

"Don't worry Bruce. I've got it covered. You can head back to the bat cave now."


	7. Chapter 7

Andy had told Ichabod upon leaving the lab that given the number of questions he had, he had to have some comfort food. He had bought a rubbery looking triangular white confection from a bakery, which he was eating with obvious enjoyment. Ichabod watched him tear off pieces and place them between his lips. He had offered a corner to Ichabod, and while Ichabod had not found it offensive, he realized he registered little more than the sweetness of Andy's fingers fleetingly in his mouth.

"So how old are you?" asked Andy. "I'm 31. You look in your mid-thirties. But you hired my Aunt Mei." 

Ichabod turned to look at him. "Almost 80."

Andy looked at him thoughtfully while chewing. Then he gave him a wicked smile. "You're pretty spry for an octogenarian."

"You know you like older men," Ichabod joked.

"I do," said Andy, and it didn't sound like he was joking.

Taken a bit aback, Ichabod stammered, "My father was almost 150 when he died. There is a correlation between longevity and those who can sense spells and those who can cast spells, and heredity does play a part."

"If he passed on more than just longevity to you, I'm betting he was one good-looking man."

Ichabod blushed. It was a bit much, this barrage of flirtatious comments, one after another.

Surrounding them were the typical noises of the neighborhood. Cars and people yelling into their cell phones and children screaming in play. And suddenly, Ichabod was struck with how much he enjoyed the flirting, having Andy at his side when retrieving objects, working with him in the shop, chatting with him as they walked through a city that he loved. He could feel the want building up inside himself, rising and expanding, filling his chest and his head until he had to speak. "I want to, you know, but there are reasons why I can't."

For a second, Ichabod felt like the world had gone silent and still. The words were so inadequate, but Andy seemed to understand. "My mom always said that things worth wanting were things worth waiting for. I'm in no hurry."

Even as he said the following words, Ichabod knew he hoped Andy would not follow them. "Maybe you should keep your options open. In case you end up waiting in vain."

Ichabod couldn't look directly at Andy, but he could tell from Andy's posture that he was confused. Ichabod hated himself.

They were nearing the unofficial neighborhood boundary of Columbus Avenue. Andy took in a breath, and Ichabod steeled himself for further awkward conversation. "What's up with the ziploc bag?" 

Ichabod let out his own breath in relief and nodded. This he could talk about. "The coating neutralizes partially triggered spells. I don't know when the properties of the coating were discovered, but my father showed me one he used in the 1800s. Same coating inside an oil cloth drawstring sack." 

"What's in the coating, do you know?" 

"A combination of salt and silver, for sure, both long known to have an effect on magic. I am sure there is something else, but the formulation is magical in itself, and not being a witch, I am not privy to all the details." 

"Who makes the bags?" 

They paid attention to crossing the multiple lanes of Columbus Avenue. Not only cars and buses plied the lanes, but North Beach was infamous for stealth bicyclists who appeared out of nowhere. Pedestrians had to walk defensively. 

"They are supplied by the local witching committee, the same that employs me and by extension you." 

"And why exactly do they hire you to do this flower pot retrieval thing? Can't they just do the retrieval themselves?" 

"Strangely enough," Ichabod said, "they are rubbish at it. You see, witches can cast spells on objects and read the spells on objects, although only partially, but they can only do so if they are in contact with an object. You can imagine how long it would have taken a witch to locate the spelled flower pot. She would probably have succumbed to the fainting spell long before isolating the source." 

"So you, and your dad, are, were, special." They turned right on to Grant, and Andy started consuming the last jiggly white triangle. 

"Not that special, but a singularly special enough ability. We are not numerous, but there were enough to populate the school I went to."

"Hogwarts," commented Andy.

"Of a sort," responded Ichabod. "We can sense spells and where they are emanating from even without touching them. We can't cast spells, but we can find them. At school, they helped us to refine our skills, and, where necessary, provided us with contacts for employment." 

"No witches that can detect spells? None at your school?" Andy distractingly licked his fingers after the last sticky bite. 

"Apparently not. I don't know if the skills are mutually exclusive, but I've never heard of one person who could do both." 

They had arrived back in the shop, and Ichabod unlocked the shop door to let them in. He automatically flipped the door sign to 'open'. Andy went to the restroom while Ichabod deposited the bagged object on the back office desk and then turned on the shop lights. 

Andy took his seat behind the counter, and Ichabod leaned back against it facing him. "So witches can't easily find spelled objects, but why do they need you guys? How many of these objects can there be?" 

Ichabod rubbed his bearded chin. "The problem with spells is that they are akin in many ways to nuclear waste. Easy to create, a seemingly eternal half life, and a propensity for going astray." 

"How many spelled objects can there be?" 

"More than you can imagine." Ichabod thought about how best to respond. "Witches have the ability to do magic, which is essentially the casting of spells on objects. This is, incidentally, how most witches make their livings, casting spells on objects to order." 

"Does everyone know about this, because I sure didn't" interrupted Andy. 

"Again, more than you think, but not most people." 

"So how much do they charge?" 

"A somewhat closely-guarded secret, but in general, it depends. Witches vary in skill and integrity, just as with people in general. You have what are essentially hacks that can only charge relatively little - and you get what you pay for - to highly skilled witches that charge a significant price for a very specialized or complicated spell. And there is generally a premium for spells of a more illicit or deadly nature." 

"Hold it right there, Mr. Crane." Andy had his hands up as if to keep Ichabod away and he was furiously shaking his head. "You mean there are like witch assassins and drug dealers?" 

"Fortunately few, and witches police their own as far as they can. Abbie is a part of that." 

"Okay. You have good witches and bad witches and you have witch police. So why do they need people like you?" 

Ichabod shrugged. "It's mostly the hacks that cause the problem, but any spell that can potentially go off out in the "wild," as it were, is a danger - both in terms of hurting people but also in terms of unwanted exposure for witches. The unfortunate fact is that many spells are cast, some are fully activated and dissipate, but many more are so thoughtlessly constructed that they end up out in the world, armed and ready to go off." 

"So we're talking about an epidemic of loose spells." 

Ichabod nodded. "It is especially serious whenever there is a concentration of people. That's why they sent my father here in 1850. San Francisco exploded after gold was discovered, and with the influx of people came an influx of spelled objects brought from everywhere. You don't really even need to have local witches involved, but witches tend to follow the money, which is people, so populated areas tend to have witches." 

Andy had started twining his fingers together, and Ichabod was disturbed at how distracted he was looking at them weave in and out. 

"So how many witches are there in San Francisco?" Andy asked. 

"Dozens, I imagine. It's a lucrative market. And there are all levels of skill." 

As if following a cue on a stage, Jennifer Mills came through the shop door carrying a reusable grocery bag from Whole Foods. "Is this a good time?" she quipped. 

"Indeed," said Ichabod. "Your timing is fortuitous. I have been giving Andy 'the talk', but I'm at the point where your assistance would be most useful." 

"Actually, I think we covered the birds and bees quite adequately a while back," said Andy amiably.

Ichabod gave Andy a measured look, but Andy just smiled in return. Cheeky bastard. 

Jennifer just ignored Andy's joking. "Ichabod rang a short time ago, and since I was free, I am here to offer you my services as tutor." With that, she opened her grocery bag and pulled out a regular ziploc bag filled with grey pieces of Lego and a folded sheet of instructions. "Lesson one. Follow the instructions and put together the Lego model." She turned to Ichabod. "While he's doing that, you can make me a cup of tea. Teaching always makes me thirsty."

When Ichabod returned five minutes later with a tea tray, Andy was attaching the last few pieces of what was clearly an elephant. Ichabod put the tray down on the counter to let the tea steep.

"Okay, done," said Andy, attaching the elephant's tail. Suddenly, the elephant's head began twisting from side to side and a trumpeting sound could be heard.

"Holy shit!" cried Andy, nearly dropping the model.

"That, my little friend," said Jennifer, "is a spell. And do not be fooled by the fact that the object is a toy. This is a very sophisticated spell."

"I'm guessing," said Ichabod as he prepared to pour the tea, "this is one of your spells."

"A commission for a child's birthday," admitted Jennifer, "conveniently available for today's demonstration."

Ichabod passed around the mugs of tea and passed around the sugar and milk. When everyone was contentedly set up, Jennifer continued. "All spells have three parts. The trigger, the focus, and the action. With a simple but well-made spell, the first two conditions are properly met and the spelled action ensues. Once the action is complete, the spell is essentially used up and the object is once again just an ordinary object.

"This, however," she said, putting down her mug and picking up the Lego elephant, "is not just a simple spell. It is a durable spell. That means that the action can be triggered over and over again. Such spells require much greater skill. Here," she continued, handing the elephant back to Andy. "Take off a piece and then put it back together."

Andy did so, and the elephant once again moved its head and trumpeted. "So the trigger is putting all the pieces together," he hazarded.

"Excellent guess," responded Jennifer. "The focus is what the spell is going to act on. What do you think it is?"

Andy looked at the model thoughtfully. "The elephant itself? The head?"

"Very good. Two points so far. And the action?"

"The elephant's head moves and makes a noise." Andy looked quite satisfied with himself.

"Close enough," said Jennifer. "Actually, there are two focuses. The first is the one you gave. The second is actually the air surrounding the model. Spells don't create something out of nothing. They have to follow the laws of physics. In this case, the spell manipulated the air molecules around the model to create sound waves that we perceive as an elephant's trumpeting."

Andy nodded in apparent comprehension.

"Shall we now move on," said Ichabod, "to an assessment of our latest retrieval?"

They made their way to the back office. Andy whispered in Ichabod's ear, "So Jenny's a witch?" 

"You are perceptive, aren't you," he commented sarcastically. He then added more seriously, "A very good one." 

"Good as in talented or good as in not evil?" asked Andy. 

"Both." 

Jennifer unbagged the chartreuse flower pot, shaking excess dirt back into the bag. She held the pot in her hands and closed her eyes in concentration. 

"Just to let you know, a good witch," she paused here to make it clear she was speaking of herself, "can discern the trigger and the focus of a spelled object. Sometimes, I can also figure out the action."

She held up the pot, questioning. "The trigger is incomplete. Was there a plant in the pot?" 

Andy nodded. "A miniature rose. Almost dead. It kind of flew all over the lab when I retrieved it." 

Jennifer nodded back in acknowledgement. "Makes sense. The plant, I mean. The other trigger is a drop of blood." 

"The broken vial of blood!" exclaimed Andy. 

"Focus appears to be anyone nearby." 

"A sleeping beauty spell," muttered Ichabod. 

"Pretty rudimentary," commented Jennifer. "Any dime store witch could do that one." Here she was clearly not including herself. 

"So the action was making people faint?" asked Andy. 

"Not exactly," answered Jennifer. "A typical sleeping beauty spell causes the focus to fall into a deep sleep, requiring a good kiss to wake up. From what Ichabod told me on the phone, that didn't happen here." 

"They fainted," agreed Andy, "but they regained consciousness on their own. No enchanted kisses." 

Ichabod couldn't help notice that Andy was looking at him when he said that. 

"That's because this spell was only partially triggered. The object bag would not have neutralized it otherwise." 

"What's 'partially' mean here," asked Andy. 

"Usually the triggers are met, but not exactly as the witch planned," she responded. "If this is a sleeping beauty spell, and it probably is, then the spell requires the pricking of a finger. It sounds like you got the blood but no finger. As a result, the spell acts somewhat unpredictably. In this case, it made anyone nearby faint." 

"Simple spells and badly constructed spells are often easily partially triggered," Ichabod contributed. "That's the bulk of what I end up retrieving." 

"So why don't you just trigger the spell properly and get rid of the spell completely?" asked Andy.

"Because we can't tell what the action is," said Ichabod. "We think this is a sleeping beauty spell, but it could equally be a sleeping death spell."

"I think I can guess what the second one does," mumbled Andy.

"I suspect you would not want to volunteer to be a spell activator," said Jennifer. "I doubt the position would encourage longevity."

"I get it," said Andy. "But why are there so many crappy spells around? Why don't witches just make spells that work well?"

"Because such spells are easy to cast, and lots of witches are lazy," said Jennifer.

Ichabod nodded in agreement. "A good spell requires a lot more skill and refinement." 

"Which most people won't pay for," Jennifer added.

Andy pointed at the Lego elephant. "Like how much is your client paying for this spell?"

"$500."

At Andy's shocked look, Jennifer added, "More money than good sense. He could just buy a mechanical toy elephant that does essentially the same thing, but he's willing to pay for something no one else, or no one else's child, has."

"How about this sleeping beauty spell?" Andy asked.

"A hack job," said Jennifer. "Probably $100, but not worth even half that."

"And how about a sleeping death spell?"

Jennifer and Ichabod exchanged a look.

"Price available upon request. A serious request. Death," said Jennifer seriously, "is always a very expensive matter."


	8. Chapter 8

It was a late spring San Francisco day. Andy had finished at Irving and Irving and was at the shop full time now. The skies were clear and the day was warm by San Francisco standards. Andy was wearing just a blue pinstriped button down with the sleeves rolled up, and Ichabod found himself more than once looking at the knobs of his wrists and the smooth slender forearms. He also couldn't help but think about the fact that Andy had worn the same shirt on the night of their very memorable, at least for Ichabod, evening of a sexual nature. Not a productive thought but enjoyable all the same.

Ichabod was in his usual shirt and blazer, and he wondered what Andy saw when he looked at him. He hoped Andy didn't see a preternaturally young-looking octogenarian, but he wasn't sure he wanted Andy to be looking at him at all. Not for the first time, he couldn't decide whether or not he was disappointed that Andy had not tried for another night together. Ichabod had made it clear that the sex was a one-time thing. He couldn’t do relationships. It was more than annoying that Andy had so completely taken him at his word and was acting accordingly.

They were ostensibly out for a walk because the day was so fine, but Ichabod believed in pleasure mixed with purpose. A fine day it might be, but it had also been a while since he had wandered through the stalls of the Coit Tower flea market. Therefore, he had told Andy to flip the door sign to 'closed' and they headed north up Grant to the stairs up to the Tower.

Andy had accompanied Ichabod on most of his "booty calls," as Andy had taken to labeling the calls from Abbie, over the last month. However, there had only been the few calls, so most of the time, Andy had actually been learning more about running the shop and about antiques and about how to deal with (or, as Andy would comment, flirt with) some of the more peculiar or particular customers. Ichabod was somewhat annoyed that Andy was so convincing in his flirting, and it wasn't as reassuring as it should have been to find out how easy it was for Andy to smile at a customer or laugh at her quips. As if Ichabod should criticize.

Andy had also familiarized himself with the object database, to Ichabod's great relief, and the last two consultations with Jennifer had taken place with Andy at the keyboard.

Ichabod had not yet added Andy to the ward over the doorway to the basement. He told himself Andy was still on probation, it had been less than two months after all. But he also realized he wasn't comfortable with Andy seeing the place where his aunt had died, even though Andy had no idea what had really happened to her. For that matter, neither did they.

They turned to take the stairs up the hill, and Andy, who had seemed content to walk with him while taking in the view, asked, "So tell me about the tattoo."

Ichabod was confused. What tattoo? Clearly his expression gave this away, and Andy jumped back in to clarify, "The one on your left thumb. You rub it when you're lost in thought, like just now."

Now Ichabod was unsettled. He wondered what other tells he was providing through his unconscious gestures.

"Shit. I'm being too nosy, aren't I?" said Andy. "I should've guessed it was way personal."

Ichabod shrugged off his discomfort and answered, "It is, but every witch who sees this, "he waved his left thumb in the air, "knows what it is, so you should too."

"It's not a tattoo, then," said Andy, looking alert rather than abashed, as he did just a moment before.

"No, it isn't. They are spell marks."

"Like notches on your belt for each witch you've slept with," Andy joked. Really, he was irrepressible.

"No, but you aren't that far off the mark."

"Pun intended."

"Not consciously. They actually represent spells that have been cast on me."

"You, personally, and not just because you picked up the wrong spelled book." Their last object recovery was a spelled Bible which turned on lights when a specific passage was read aloud. Ichabod had informed Andy that a good deal of 19th century spelled objects were commissioned for use in religious services. A bit of mystery to enhance the gatherings of the faithful.

"Me, personally. I am my own spelled object," Ichabod acknowledged.

"That is too ironical," Andy commented.

"I have often thought so."

"You know I really want to know what the spells are, but that's probably way out of line. And I guess you'll tell me if you feel comfortable. So I'll ask how the spell on a person works instead."

Ichabod nodded, relieved at the easier question. "It's not quite the same as with a spelled object. There, you're dealing with an inanimate object. With a human being, there are too many variables, so while there's a trigger and a focus and a planned action, it's more like a prediction than a direct cause and effect. In fact, people can actually turn events around such that they completely contradict the spell and then the spell is eradicated."

"But I'm gathering that people spells are not the easiest to cast. Else why would there be so many objects? Why not spell directly and avoid the middleman?"

"The spells themselves aren't really harder than any others. The problem is, as with objects, the witch needs to have physical contact with the person to cast the spell."

"Whoa," was Andy's reaction. "Is it a good touch or a bad touch?" he asked.

Ichabod looked at him quizzically.

"You know. Did they hold you down and force the spell on you, or did you let them do it?"

Ichabod nodded, now understanding. Andy's leaps and associations kept Ichabod guessing.

"Both happen. But in my case, it was with my acquiescence."

They had arrived at the top of the stairs. The parking lot at the base of the city landmark, a tower in the shape of a fire hose nozzle that stood like a an ensign of protection looking out over the Bay, was filled today with vendors' stalls rather than tourists' cars and tour buses. The things for sale were generally small since everything bought had to be carried away in hand. There were housewares and toys, books, the ubiquitous piles of Beanie Babies, jewelry, writing implements, DVDs, and less classifiable bric-a-brac.

They walked among the stalls in a companionable relative silence, their previous conversation on hold. Then Ichabod felt the unmistakable tingle, like something charged brushing against his skin. A spelled object was near. Fact was, Ichabod ended up encountering spelled objects everywhere. A flea market was, however, logistically preferable to at a person's house, for example. You could simply buy the object at the flea market. At a person's house, the choices for liberating the object were much more awkward and often illegal.

He looked around, and his senses drew him to a table of toys. He moved in that direction. His eyes lingered briefly on the assortment of dolls, board games, blocks, and action figures. He picked up a metal toy fire engine, and confirmed that it was the source of the spell. It was labeled $5. He pulled out a five and handed it over.

"You got a deal," said the vendor. "It's more than thirty years old and in great condition. Saw one on eBay going for at least twenty."

"Hey!" said Andy from over his shoulder. "I love toy trucks. For me?"

Ichabod gave him a wry look. "Are you sure you're an adult?"

"The jury is still out on that."

"I will refrain from making any comment about a hung jury."

Andy laughed, and Ichabod liked it even though he knew he couldn't really have it.

"So it's that easy. You just walk around and pluck spelled objects out of the air."

"Sometimes it is," agreed Ichabod.

They walked through the rest of the market, but that seemed to be it, so Ichabod pointed them back towards the stairs and back to the shop. Andy carried the toy truck in his backpack.

For some reason, Ichabod wanted to tell Andy about the spells on himself, so before he could overthink it or have Andy ask, he started his story. "It was not long before I took over the shop and the business from my father. I will say in hindsight that I was pretty unaware and unthinking and selfish."

Andy seemed to know immediately that they had returned to their earlier conversation and did not make a joke.

"I was involved with a young woman, Elizabeth, and looking back, I know she was quite serious about us. But I was who I was, and I wasn't ready to commit, so I kept her at a slight distance and I didn't give off any indication in public that we were anything more than friends. I really didn't understand how much that hurt her."

"So she spelled you."

Ichabod shook his head. "She had reason enough, but I did something far worse."

Andy looked disappointed.

Ichabod rushed on with the story since it was only going to get worse. "She had a very attractive brother, George, who I would often see in her company, and we would flirt constantly. And then one day, it went beyond flirting."

"Oh no," sighed Andy.

"Indeed. It went beyond flirting numerous times, and then she caught us in the act one day. At first, he was just embarrassed, but it became clear that there was a lot more to it. He hadn't known that his sister and I were in a relationship, no matter that I tried to convince myself that we weren't. He figured it out fast. And then both of them were furious at me, with justification."

"An understatement, I'd say," said Andy.

"And I really didn't cotton on to how horrible I'd been until days later. It’s hard to believe that was me." Ichabod stopped talking. There was the third part to the story, but he wasn't ready to debase himself further in Andy's eyes than he already had. "But I did finally become aware, and to apologize and show my sincerity..."

"You allowed them to cast a spell on you."

"Yes. I forgot to mention that they were both witches, didn't I, but I guess I didn't have to."

Ichabod was sure Andy couldn't help but wonder about the third circle. A story for later, if ever. He continued. "Allowing someone to cast a spell on you is one of the sincerest forms of apology in the witching world, so I went to them, and they lay hands on me and cast the spells. And after that, we never spoke again, and I lost track of them over twenty years ago."

Ichabod paused. It seemed the story merited a moment of silence to allow one to contemplate his inexcusable behavior.

"She was very bitter," he resumed, "so it won't surprise you that she spelled me so that should I ever fall in love, I will find a way to destroy the person I love."

"Harsh. Was her brother's spell that bad?"

"He was angry for his sister but clearly not as embittered. His spell was that if I ever fall in love, I will not be able to, as he spelled it, 'get it up for them.'"

"That last one could be open to interpretation, don't you think?"

"Spells know the caster's intent. Magical erectile dysfunction. No matter how you state it."

"Less horrible on a certain level since it's obviously not cramping your style." Andy blushed. "At least in my personal experience."

"True enough. Love has everything to do with triggering these spells, and that's something I've managed to avoid. Not to mention no more dalliances with witches."

"Indeed," said Andy, and Ichabod noted that he was silent for the rest of the walk back to the shop.


	9. Chapter 9

Ichabod returned from a solo retrieval job in late afternoon to find the shop closed. He let himself in and went into the back office to put down the diamond necklace. It wasn't exactly rare to have spells on expensive objects, but he still didn't run into that many. It would have been harder to confiscate something so valuable, too, if it hadn't been causing oven-like temperatures in its vicinity, not to mention the lack of objections from its wearer.

Ichabod heard the front door and went back into the shop. Andy was laughing at something Abbie was recounting, and they looked too familiar to have just run into each other on the way in. Jennifer trailed them in, studiously ignoring their giddy behavior.

"Where were YOU?" he asked, looking at Andy and Abbie.

"We were having a pie break when your call came in," Andy answered. "We ran into Jennifer just in front."

"You were together?" Ichabod asked, surprised.

"All the time, Crane," said Abbie. "Can't get enough Sunny Q."

"They didn't invite me," complained Jennifer.

Ichabod looked at them both suspiciously, realizing he had stumbled upon these meetings behind his back once before. This could not be good. "What do you and Andy talk about?" he asked Abbie before he could stop himself.

"Why you, of course," laughed Abbie. "What else could we have to discuss?"

Andy actually looked sheepish at Abbie's glib answer, but Ichabod was already sorry he had asked.

They moved into the back office, and Jennifer picked up the object. Andy had taken his place at the computer and began typing.

Jennifer turned the diamond around in her hand and let the light refract into dazzling sparkles. "Very nice," Abbie commented. "Much nicer than that toy fire truck." 

Jennifer closed her eyes and focused on the piece of jewelry. "The trigger is heat," she said. "The heat from a person's skin. And the focus is the wearer." 

"So is this a perpetual spell?" Abbie asked.

"No," replied Ichabod. "This was a partial activation. The spell stopped the second I dropped the necklace in the bag."

Andy stopped typing, and it was clear he was working to puzzle out what Ichabod had just said. "Oh my god," exclaimed Andy. "Don't tell me you pulled this off a corpse!"

"If you don't want to know..." Ichabod began to say.

"I can't believe it. Location of discovery: corpse."

"Partial activation caused the room at the funeral home to heat up like an oven. McAvoy and O"Hara on Geary."

"Done," said Andy a few minutes later as he gave a final click with a flourish. "Time for your close up my little pretty," he said as he cleared a spot for the diamond on the dark brown wood desk. "By the way," he said as he took pictures of the diamond with his phone, "I notice that not all the items have photos. Some of the older ones do, and some of the newer ones don't."

"Meili did digital pictures for the last ten years or so, so those are in there. And we actually have some of the objects before that." Ichabod felt it was important to show he wasn't a complete Luddite. "There are physical photographs from the beginning, and we did get the photographs scanned a few years ago, but there are hundreds of pictures, and the file names of the photos don't mean anything, so Meili had to read the description and then look through all the pictures for the correct one. Sometimes a picture serendipitously recalled an object. In any case, it wasn't getting done in any particular order."

"Sounds like junior G-man is looking for a project," commented Abbie.

"I'd be glad to," said Andy. "And I can learn more about what's downstairs. Where on the computer are the scans?"

"I don't think they ever got copied off the DVDs from the photo place," said Abbie. "Probably in the safe."

"The safe?" asked Andy.

"Ichabod still thinks DVDs are special. He was also still saving AOL disks not long ago."

Andy just looked baffled. Ichabod sighed discontentedly, and Abbie laughed at him. Ichabod went over to the safe and unlocked it. "Here you go," he said, handing over the stack of disks. "Have at it."

"Cool." Andy put down the stack of DVDs next to the computer but then looked at his watch. "I guess I'll have to get started tomorrow. I'd better get going." He looked somewhat pained as he gathered up his messenger bag and made his way out of the office, very obviously avoiding looking at Ichabod. "See you tomorrow," he called out as he walked out the door.

"Hot date," Abbie whispered into Ichabod's ear. Ichabod was not happy with how unhappy those two words made him feel.

.....

The next few days had Andy mostly sitting at the computer looking through photos of objects and then doing searches on the database, trying, and succeeding only occasionally, to figure out what search terms would have been used to describe the object. Ichabod left him to it and worked in the shop, helping an occasional customer. More frequent were visits from Abbie, who was on night shifts and stopped by before going to work.

"Must be the nice weather," said Abbie. "People tend to go out instead of buying antiques." She sat behind the front counter watching Ichabod dust.

"Jennifer says it's pretty quiet with spell commissions, too," commented Ichabod.

"But she’s not anywhere near desperate enough to volunteer to help you with the dusting," Abbie joked. She got up and went over to the doorway to the back office. "So how are you doing, Junior G-Man?"

"Not bad," Andy answered. "Some of the older descriptions use expressions that I have to Google, so my archaic vocabulary is increasing."

"More diamonds?" asked Abbie. "I like shiny things."

"Not many diamonds," said Andy. "Quite a few shiny things though, especially silver. Mirrors, candle holders, cups and plates."

"Probably chalices and patens," corrected Ichabod, who had been listening. "You would be surprised at how many religious items are spelled."

"A little bit of the miraculous for the faithful," mused Abbie.

"And did you know," Andy continued, "that there are like hundreds of candles in the inventory? Twelve of them have five red stars on them."

"Used by a secret society, if I remember correctly," said Ichabod. "I think they got a group discount and got a whole box of candles spelled for one of their initiation ceremonies." 

"Really," commented Andy, "I don't know how you can tell these things apart. If you ever need to find a specific object, you're going to be stuck."

"It’s not often, but sometimes we do. That's why you are working with the photographs," said Ichabod. 

"And there are like three skulls. Whose brilliant idea was it to describe them by explaining who the skull belonged to when the person was alive? Axe murderer. Soldier. Priest. Totally no help at all."

"I guess you need to have access to the basement so you can cross check objects with their photos when you aren't sure. I'll have Jennifer change the wards on the basement door the next time she can come by."

There was silence.

"Andy is too excited about the idea of getting into the basement to speak," laughed Abbie.

Ichabod still felt a bit hesitant about giving Andy access, but there really wasn't any good reason to keep him out and many good reasons to let him in. "That's odd," he said instead. "He's usually even more talkative when he's excited."

Andy made noises of disagreement.

"So," Abbie asked Andy in what was clearly a purposefully audible whisper. "I never asked how the date went last week." Ichabod's ears perked up.

"It went okay," said Andy haltingly. Ichabod wanted to see Andy's face to judge how 'okay' it was, but he stayed where he was in the middle of the store dusting a china cabinet and its assorted contents. "He was nice enough," continued Andy. "Works for a tech company. Seemed stable."

"Is that your primary concern?" asked Abbie.

"Stability, or rather, lack of instability, cannot be over-rated," answered Andy. "Believe me, there are just too many crazy people out there."

"You do need to be careful," said Ichabod.

"I knew you would be listening," said Abbie loudly. "Don't you have things to do?"

Ichabod harrumphed and moved on to a roll-top desk that needed some attention. Abbie had no intention of hiding this conversation from Ichabod.

"So what did he look like?" asked Abbie. "I'm only interested in the superficial."

"He was cute enough," said Andy. Ichabod wasn't sure what to think of that comment. "A bit shorter than I expected and beefier than he looked in his picture. Not that either is a deal breaker, but I guess I was looking for something else." Ichabod felt guilty at how pleased he was over Andy's disappointment.

"I'm guessing you prefer them long and lean," quipped Abbie.

"I guess so," said Andy. "He was really nice and the conversation was easy, but I don't think I was his type either. We didn't even make any comments about trying a second meet up."

"Oh well," Abbie said. "You aren't going to find true love just waiting around for it to fall in your lap."

"I don't know," said Andy. "I'm thinking of just taking my profile down. At least for a while." Ichabod silently agreed that would be a good idea.

Andy resumed typing, and looking bored, Abbie came back into the shop. "Come on," she said to Ichabod. "Let's go for a walk into Chinatown. I need to buy some veggies for my dinner before going on duty. You can be my sherpa."

Ichabod had had enough of dusting. "I am at your service." He called out to Andy, "You want to join us?"

"Nah," said Andy. "I've set a goal of doing at least ten pictures a day, and I'm only up to six today." He added, "But bring me back some..."

Ichabod had no idea what Andy said in Chinese, but Abbie clearly knew what he wanted and said she would. They headed out.

.....

It was another lovely day. The weather would undoubtedly get a bit more unsettled as they moved squarely into summer, but this cusp between spring and summer was pretty constant. Cool but clear days until late-June. The walk was pleasant and cleared Ichabod's head of all the dust that had been flying into his nose. He carried Abbie's canvas tote, now full of Chinese greens, ginger, onions, and green peppers. Abbie carried a small white paper bag with three triangles of that same white confection - apparently what Andy had asked her to bring back.

They chatted amiably about the dawning summer. Abbie was thinking about going down to San Diego with some friends for a week around the Fourth. Ichabod confessed that he had given summer little thought, but with the prospect of the foggy days of summer ahead, perhaps some time up in a more reliably sunny place deserved some consideration.

They entered the shop, and found Andy siting behind the counter.

"I got your..." Abbie started, but Ichabod knew why she had stopped when he looked over and clearly saw Andy's face.

Andy was holding himself very still, and on the counter in front of him was a DVD. It was not one of the ones that contained object photographs. Those had a professionally printed label from the scanning company. This one had a handwritten label on it.

"Oh shit..." said Abbie.

Andy spoke. "So you know about this, too. Both of you do."

"What are you talking about?" asked Ichabod.

"What is this?" asked Andy, holding up the hand-labeled DVD.

Abbie hesitated before saying, "It's security camera footage." Ichabod felt a tightness in his chest when he realized what it was. Abbie had made the DVD and put it in the safe. Ichabod hadn't really known what it looked like.

"But what is it? said Andy emphatically. "I read the date on the footage. It's the day before she died. Where was she? I mean when she isn't in the office."

Ichabod realized Andy had not yet been in the basement. "It's inside the basement, where we store the objects we retrieve."

Andy's eyes did not meet theirs. He looked at the DVD as he placed it back on the counter. "I don't understand. At first, I thought you had this because it was the day before she died. Something to remember her with. But there's the video where she's, I guess, in the basement, and she goes to the far end of the room, and then it's like she's having a seizure or something and then she's floating off the ground." Andy looked up at them. He looked pained. The usual brightness in his eyes was gone, and all Ichabod could see was confusion.

"What happened to her?" Andy asked, his voice sounding more strained. "Did she get attacked by the spell of something in the basement?"

"We don't know," said Ichabod quietly.

"You don't the fuck know?" shouted Andy. He stood up, nearly knocking the stool he had been sitting on over, and began pacing in the small space behind the counter. Ichabod and Abbie were still standing in the entryway. "So you've basically just confirmed that something happened to Aunt Mei in the basement, but you don't know what it was."

"We know some things," ventured Ichabod, "but a lot of things don't make sense." Abbie was nodding very slightly.

"Are you going to tell me?" asked Andy. He stopped pacing and crossed his arms across his chest. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"You didn't know about spells, and we didn't want to make your aunt's death more difficult for you," said Ichabod.

"Oh my god," cried Andy, dropping his hands to his sides. "You're telling me that this is a video of my aunt dying?"

Neither Ichabod or Abbie could speak, but Ichabod felt he had to at least nod.

Andy sucked in a breath and held his hands over his mouth. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, and he was trembling. He finally lowered his hands and asked, "So what happened. I think you need to tell me. I know things now."

This was not how Ichabod had wanted to introduce Andy to the basement, but he didn't see that he had any other choice. He needed to see what the video had not made clear. He excused himself and quietly made a call to Jennifer, asking her to come over to add Andy to the ward over the basement door. Jennifer clearly picked up on the urgency in Ichabod’s tone, and she was there in less than 15 minutes. Ichabod couldn’t recall that anyone said anything in the interval. Jennifer said a quick hello to the three of them and then went alone into the office. Ichabod heard her talk softly. She finished and called them into the office.

"We know it involves an object we found," Ichabod said. He led the way into the office and then through the basement door. He could hear Andy follow, but he was glad that for the moment he didn't have to look at him. "It was a bottle, and when partially triggered, it produced an outpouring of water. When I went to retrieve it, it was creating a waterfall down a stairwell in a building at SFU."

Ichabod proceeded down the stairs, and he could hear that the two women had not joined them into the basement. It was just him and Andy. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ichabod pointed out the position of the security camera and the storage area under the stairs and the storage shelves on both sides of the long room. Then he led the way to the far end.

"This is a glass room that my father created as a safe room," Ichabod said. "It was made in case you needed somewhere to escape a spell. You could see what was happening, but you could seal the door and the materials in the glass would prevent the spell from attacking you."

"So Aunt Mei entered the room to protect herself from the spell on the bottle? I didn't see any water in the basement."

"That's what we don't understand either," said Ichabod. Andy was standing next to and just behind him, out of his line of vision. Ichabod stared straight ahead, into the glass-walled space. "From what we can tell, your aunt actually put the bottle in the room, left, and then later went back in the room and sealed the door. Then the room filled with water."

"How do you know? I couldn't see clearly in the video."

"We found her floating in the room the next morning. We had to drain the water from the room to get to her body."

There was no response. Ichabod couldn't breathe, and he couldn't, didn't want to, turn to look at Andy. He didn't want to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. 

"So this is where she really died," began Andy, softly but stiffly. "She didn't die peacefully in her sleep. She locked herself in a glass cube and activated a bottle that filled the cube with water and she drowned." Andy was speaking through sobs now. "Is that what you are telling me? She locked herself in a room and filled it with water and killed herself."

"We still can't imagine why she would do it, but that's what it looks like, yes," said Ichabod in a whisper.

He heard Andy's strangled cry and then the sound of his footsteps receding quickly back down the length of the room and up the stairs. Ichabod didn't know what to say to Andy. Sorry? Was that enough? It didn't matter. He owed it to Meili and to Andy to face up to what had happened. Ichabod turned and walked back through the basement and up the stairs. When he passed through the empty office and into the shop, it was only Jennifer and Abbie standing in the entry way, the white bag containing Andy's snack in Abbie’s hand. Dust motes floated through the silence of the shop.

"He just ran through and out the door. I couldn't stop him," said Jennifer in a strangled voice. "He just pushed me away and he was gone."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this week since the first was small.

Ichabod didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he wanted to chase after Andy. He knew where he lived and could have gone there. But there remained the question of why he was going after Andy. There was no way to make things right, and Andy should be given his space. He would need time to process things and then, hopefully, he would be back.

So Ichabod did not do anything other than ask Abbie if Andy was okay. It was clear they were friends, but it was unclear to Ichabod what Andy was to him or he to Andy. Abbie told him Andy was short even with her and just needed to be away for a while. Abbie did nothing to counter Ichabod's fear that a while might actually mean for good.

Work turned out to be no distraction from so much fruitless ruminating.

It was now six days after Andy had found out about the true, if one could use that term, circumstances of Meili's death. Six days where Ichabod found himself with far too much time to think. He went out on walks to several of his usual flea markets, which were pleasant enough and provided some fresh air, but netted no new objects to distract himself with. He spoke with Abbie regularly, but there were no strange situations that required his attendance. In desperation, he had even set himself Andy's goal of correctly associating ten photos with their respective inventory entries, including numerous trips into the basement to confirm his work.

What he did not find himself doing, however, was going to the Cigar Store. Granted, his forays out for sexual gratification had already greatly fallen in number since Meili's death and, as Abbie was only too gleeful to point out, usually coincided with one of Andy's online dates. Now, he had no desire to give himself to anyone or, if he was honest, lose himself in anyone. He wanted to keep that wash of sadness and emptiness with him. He didn't want it to leave him, not even temporarily, not in sex.

Ichabod was still in the apartment that morning with his second cup when Abbie called.

"This is not a nice one, Crane. There is decidedly something off about it. I'm here with a full crew, but you need to get here ASAP." She gave him an address in the northwestern corner of the city, a wealthy neighborhood called Sea Cliff that opened onto views of the ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge from the expansive windows of multi-million dollar homes.

There was normal traffic through the Marina and the Presidio, and since parking was plentiful on the broad-fronted residential street, he was talking with Abbie within twenty minutes.

It was, Ichabod was shocked to discover, a strangled child. A boy of about eight with mussed brown hair and still not fully developed features. A face that was undoubtedly animated by all assortment of books, games, friends, and family when he was alive, now unnatural in its stillness and the dead gaze of his frozen brown eyes. Around his neck was a necktie, but it hung loosely over an obscenely bared chest which was showing signs of bruising. A crumpled shirt lay not far from the body. Ichabod could see the wide red ligature around the soft pale neck.

Ichabod rose from kneeling down next to the body. He could hear the anguished sobs of the father in the bedroom beyond. The body was on the floor of a sizable walk-in closet.

"It's not the tie," said Ichabod quietly. Abbie looked at him in puzzlement. "I mean, the tie is probably what strangled him, but it is not spelled. I can sense the spell, but it's not on the body."

Ichabod closed his eyes and let the spell come to him. He opened his eyes and found himself looking past the crumpled shirt. He moved past the shirt and ended up in front of racks of suits. He crouched down and reached under the hanging clothes. His hand found first the one and then the second object. These were both spelled. He withdrew his hand. Cufflinks. And expensive ones. He stood up and sidled back next to Abbie. "These are definitely spelled, but couldn't someone have come in and strangled the boy?"

"It doesn't look like anyone was near when he was strangled. That's why I called you, Crane. The father was downstairs in his office on a phone call. He remembers hearing what he thought was a shout at some point, but he didn't think much of it since he knew the kid was playing upstairs. He said he was on the phone for a good twenty minutes. We will confirm that with the phone company and the person he was talking to. The cook was the only other person in the house. She was in the kitchen, but she said she hadn't heard anything. She saw the father come out of his office and head upstairs, and less than a minute later, he was screaming for an ambulance." Abbie pointed to the ligature mark. "The father swears he did not loosen the tie. The tie was as you see it, but the boy was unconscious on the ground. The father ripped off the shirt to see if something else was wrong and then did a very poor approximation of CPR. When the paramedics arrived, they couldn't revive the boy. They figure he was dead for a good while before the father started the CPR. The autopsy will confirm."

It was rare for Ichabod to be at an actual crime scene. Usually, Abbie intercepted calls and met Ichabod at scenes alone. However, this was an unexplained death, and having Luke Morales at the site with Abbie allowed him to get into the closet area and near the body.

"Well, I have what I came for, so I'll get out of the way," Ichabod said. They both made towards the doorway of the closet, and it looked like the paramedics were ready to remove the body. Ichabod was not able to keep himself from one last look at the body. It was pitiful in its small defenselessness.

When they entered the bedroom, they could clearly hear the father's moans of "no, no, no," through the bouts of choking tears. He was a large man. If Ichabod had to guess, the man was a former college athlete now running to soft. He had bulk, but it no longer had firmness. He had such a look of desolation, not surprising under the circumstances.

Once outside the house, Ichabod voiced one concern that had been bothering him. "I don't understand why both cufflinks were essentially in the same place. Wouldn't they have been on two different cuffs? Something's not right."

"You mean aside from the spell on the cufflinks," responded Abbie.

"Yes, besides that," agreed Ichabod.

"Let me know what you and Jenny come up with," added Abbie as she turned to go back into the house.

.....

Many confused thoughts about the boy, the cufflinks, and the father vied for purchase in Ichabod's mind on the drive back, but they dissipated in favor of a single coherent thought when he walked through the shop door: Andy was back.


	11. Chapter 11

"It's good to see you," said Ichabod. "Are you doing okay?" One hand was in his pocket, fidgeting with the object bag.

"I'm okay, I guess," shrugged Andy. He sat perched on the stool behind the counter, one foot braced on the foot rung, the other foot dangling free and swinging back and forth. He was dressed in a hoody and jeans, and Ichabod couldn’t help but notice how much he pulled into himself. "I've been doing a lot of thinking."

Ichabod nodded. He realized he was still propping the front door to the shop open with his body, and he let it swing shut. "I missed having you around," Ichabod said.

"I missed being here," said Andy with a small smile.

Ichabod noted that Andy had a box of things at his feet. Ichabod was afraid to ask what it was. Andy might have already packed up the few personal possessions he had at the shop. Maybe he was just saying a final goodbye. Ichabod feared that this time, when Andy left, he might not return. He wanted to know, but instead he asked, "Do you need anything?"

"Actually," said Andy, "I'd like to see the DVD of Aunt Mei's last day again."

Ichabod must have made a shocked face because Andy hurriedly added, "I don't need to see the very last part again, but something about the footage has been bothering me."

"Of course," Ichabod responded. "Do you want to see the DVD right now?"

"If it's okay with you," said Andy.

Ichabod preceded Andy into the back office and went to the safe.

"So out and about?" asked Andy. He had taken his usual seat at the computer.

"A pair of spelled cufflinks," said Ichabod as he opened the safe. He picked out the security footage DVD and stood up. "A particularly horrible situation."

Andy looked up at him as he handed him the DVD. "Tell me what happened."

Ichabod proceeded to give Andy a description of finding the young boy's body, the apparent strangulation, and the odd location of the cufflinks.

"I have a hell of a time with cufflinks," commented Andy when Ichabod was done. "I can barely get them out of those holes when I want to take them off. If I was hurrying to remove my own shirt, the cufflink would get stuck in the hole. It wouldn't go flying across the room."

"Exactly," agreed Ichabod. "You would have to purposefully remove the cufflinks completely and throw them away. They wouldn't fall out of their own accord and, even in the unlikely event that they did, would, at the most, fall near the body."

"So you're thinking it's the dad?" asked Andy.

"If everything Abbie told me is true, he couldn't have strangled the boy himself. But I'm suspicious."

"Right. He might have known the cufflinks were spelled," responded Andy. "If he knew that, when he found his son unconscious, he would make sure to get those cufflinks as far from his son as possible."

They heard the front door open and seconds later, Jennifer appeared in the office doorway.

"Hey," she said to Andy. "Nice to see you. We’ve missed you around here."

"Ditto," said Andy.

"So, I'm here to see these cufflinks," she said to Ichabod.

Ichabod pulled out the object bag and handed it to Jennifer.

"Nice," commented Jennifer as she pulled the cufflinks out of the bag. "Not as nice as that diamond, but nice all the same."

The cufflinks were silver, and the square faces were inlaid with ruby baguettes in a basket weave pattern. Jenny held the cufflinks in one hand and closed her eyes. After a short time, she said, "The trigger is simply wearing them, putting them in a pair of French cuffs." She concentrated again. "And the focus is the wearer's necktie. Not a specific necktie though."

"Definitely sounds like it must have been the dad," said Andy.

"What do you mean? A dad killed his kid?" asked Jennifer incredulously.

"Actually, I don't think he planned to kill his son," said Ichabod thoughtfully, "but he probably knew about the cufflinks."

"Why would someone have a deadly pair of cufflinks in the house?" asked Andy.

"A very good question," said Ichabod. "While he may not have been planning to kill his own son, the cufflinks suggest he was planning to kill someone."

.....

Andy entered the cufflinks into the inventory. Jennifer left, telling them both not to be strangers. Ichabod couldn't help but enjoy the sight of Andy sitting at the computer. When Andy was done, Ichabod sealed the cufflinks in the object bag, affixed the ID label, and brought it down to the basement.

When he returned upstairs, Andy was doing a search on the Internet.

"I thought you were going to watch the camera footage," said Ichabod.

"I've got something a bit strange," replied Andy.

"What?" Ichabod asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"I thought I would find out more about the dad, and two obituaries came up when I searched his name. Turns out two close friends of his recently died, both in their 40s. No mention of how they died in the obits. And when I typed in all three of their names, I found this."

It was the text of a legal document of incorporation. There were four owners of the corporation. Three of them were the dead man and the father.

"Let's run this by Abbie," said Ichabod.

Andy watched him while he made the call. Ichabod gave Abbie the four names on the articles of incorporation and the locations of the two funeral homes mentioned in the obituaries. When he hung up, he found Andy looking at him with concern.

"You okay?" Andy asked.

Ichabod had no idea that his anger and frustration were so obvious. Or maybe Andy was just especially good at reading him. A comforting thought until he remembered the box still sitting by the chair in the shop. He gathered his thoughts and said, "I'm just so mad about this. How could the father be so careless? And if you had seen the boy's body." Ichabod kept his eyes focused on Andy's face so that the image of the boy's corpse wouldn't come back to him. "You could see how lively he must have been, how full of life, but now there was nothing." Ichabod realized he was close to tears. Before he knew what was happening, Andy had stood and wrapped him in a hug. Ichabod couldn't help but bury his face in Andy's hair.

"Don't get snots in my hair. I just washed it," mumbled Andy.

"I wouldn't think of it," said Ichabod. He allowed the hug to go on for another few seconds and then broke away. He ran a shirtsleeve across his eyes. "I'm going upstairs to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Sure," said Andy as he resumed his seat.

.....

When Ichabod returned with two mugs of Earl Grey in hand, Andy was watching the camera footage. It was on fast forward, and Andy was watching the footage of the basement with Meili appearing to scurry in and out of frame.

"Find whatever you were thinking of?" asked Ichabod as he passed him the mug.

Andy paused the video. "How many times did Aunt Mei go into the basement?" he asked before blowing on his tea.

"Three," said Ichabod.

"Three," repeated Andy. "First to put the object on a shelf. Second to take the bottle off the shelf, out of its bag, and then inside the glass room, which makes no sense at all. And third, when she comes back down and walks into the glass room and seals the door."

"That's what I remember," agreed Ichabod. "Abbie and I watched the footage several times. Did you see something different?"

"No," began Andy. "But something doesn't match. Watch this." Andy clicked on a different file, and security footage started up, but this time of the store entry way.

"I don't think we watched this one," said Ichabod. He realized it was the other security camera, the one at the entrance to the shop. When they backed up the security footage, they must have saved the footage from both cameras.

"Why would you? It wouldn't seem relevant. But look on the left side," said Andy, pointing to the image of the doorway to the office. "You can see Aunt Mei's shoulder and leg through the door."

"I don't see how this helps us," said Ichabod nodding but puzzled.

"I've watched it twice today, and Aunt Mei only leaves the desk twice."

"That's not possible."

Andy clicked on the image to pause it. "Look at the security camera time stamp. She's sitting at the desk. I just saw her arm move." Andy clicked on the window of the other footage, bringing it to the front. The time stamp was a bit off from the first, but Meili was clearly walking towards the glass room with the bottle in her hand.

Ichabod looked at both images. Meili couldn't be in two places at once. "I don't know what we're seeing."

"I know. So we need someone who knows more about this kind of weird shit than we do."

.....

"Well, this is way sooner than I expected," said Jennifer upon entering. "But you sounded a bit crazed on the phone."

"You need to see this," said Andy, seating Jennifer in front of the computer.

"I've seen it," said Jennifer. She looked between Ichabod and Andy not comprehending.

"Humor me," said Andy. "Okay, what are you looking at?" Andy clicked on the image to start the footage.

"It's Meili in the basement. I think it's when...yes. She goes to the shelf and gets the bottle to put in the cube."

Andy clicked on the image to pause it.

"Okay, now tell me what you see." Andy started the second video just as he had done for Ichabod."

"It's the front of the shop," said Jennifer.

"Can you see Aunt Mei?"

"No...wait. That's the office. I think I can see part of her. She's at the desk."

"Correct. Good eyes. Keep watching for a bit..." Andy paused the video. "Okay. Now check the time stamps on both videos."

Jennifer peered at the numbers in the lower right of each frame. "They're not the same," she commented, "but they're close to the same time. So one's from upstairs and one's from in the basement?"

"Right. And who do you see in both?" asked Andy.

Jennifer only thought for a moment. "She's in both of them. She's in the office and in the basement at the same time!"

"Exactly," commented Ichabod finally. "Can you tell us how?"

"Let me watch this part of the basement footage again," Jennifer asked. Andy showed the middle section for her once and then once again. Jennifer then sat back.

"What is it?" asked Ichabod.

"It's a shadow," said Jennifer. "I'm almost sure it's a shadow."

.....

Ichabod and Andy had immediately bombarded Jennifer with questions, and she refused to answer without a drink in her hand, so they had closed the shop and were now seated in Ichabod's living room. Jennifer and Ichabod each had a small tumbler of single malt. Andy had an IPA.

"Not like a shadow in the sunlight," explained Jennifer. "We just call it that. It's a very advanced spell that allows the caster to call out an imperfect version of the target out of the target. In the video, you can't tell, but if you saw it in person, you would see how indistinct it is. That's why we call it a shadow."

"That is the most frightening thing about spells I have ever heard," said Andy. He had already almost finished his bottle. "You can just touch someone and cast this spell on them and then make their shadowy counterpart do anything - like kill you!"

"Actually," said Jennifer, "it's not that simple. First, the shadow can't kill you directly. After all, it's a part of you. So it can't strangle you with its bare hands or suffocate you. But it can clearly start a chain of events that leads to your death."

"The shadow put the bottle in the glass room," thought Ichabod aloud. "Then it got Meili to come back downstairs to investigate. When she entered the room, it managed to seal the door and trigger the bottle."

"And what looked like a seizure must be Meili struggling with the shadow. The picture isn't that clear, and the shadow makes what's happening look even fuzzier. It must be preventing her from getting to the door to unseal it." Jennifer paused. Ichabod was sure she had suddenly realized that they had been talking about Meili as if she were a puzzle and not Andy's aunt.

"I'm sorry," said Ichabod. "We got a bit excited to finally know what actually happened."

"I'm glad, too," said Andy without his usual enthusiasm. "I couldn't believe she would kill herself. But I just can't believe someone spelled Aunt Mei and had her shadow come out and kill her. It's just as bad."

Jennifer nodded. "And it had to be someone close to her. A spell like this takes repeated contact with the target. You can't just do it at one touch like with triple play here." At that comment, Jennifer punched Ichabod lightly on the shoulder. Ichabod couldn't help rubbing his finger over the three circles on his thumb.

"Who could it have been?" said Ichabod. "I never met anyone in Meili's life that could do something so horrible. I never met anyone that could have been so close to her."

"I don't think she had a secret life," said Andy. "But clearly, she did."

.....

Jennifer had left after she finished her drink, leaving them no wiser about why Meili was killed only wiser about how.

Ichabod now had a splitting headache. They had managed to figure out the answers to two mysteries, but he felt worse than he had finding Meili's body. To think of Meili killing herself spoke of an enormous sadness, but this spoke of evil intent against a lovely woman who had never hurt anyone. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into spots behind his ear, attempting to relieve the throbbing.

"Here. Let me." Andy kneeled behind his chair and firmly massaged his scalp. He must have noted where Ichabod was applying pressure because he held his fingers in those exact spots for long moments in between massaging. It felt wonderful. Ichabod found himself wanting, but he felt like he shouldn't want, that he mustn't want. Yet throughout this internal struggle, Andy was holding his conflicted mind firmly between his hands. And he realized he didn't want to struggle anymore.

He lifted his hands to hold Andy's in his own, both pairs resting on his head.

"I want to tell you about the third spell."


	12. Chapter 12

"I've already told you about my inexcusable behavior with the siblings, Elizabeth and George" Ichabod began. Andy was still kneeling behind him, massaging his scalp and listening. "There are so many parts to what happened next that you'll have to excuse me if I tell them out of order."

Andy's massage had gentled, and now it was more like he was simply running his fingers through Ichabod's hair. Ichabod continued.

"My mother loved emeralds. My father had given her an emerald necklace, but she had another that was in a secret compartment of her jewelry case. I happened to see her open the compartment once when I was pretty young, so I knew it was there. Both of the necklaces were spelled, but because my mother kept both necklaces in the same case, you couldn’t tell there were two necklaces. I never knew what those spells were. I assumed they were love spells or something ridiculous like that. Anyway, when I started sleeping with George, I knew that I was being horrible to Elizabeth. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn't seem to help myself. So I wanted to do something nice for her - to compensate for how horribly I was acting behind her back.

"This was all after my mom had died. I went to her jewelry box to give the necklace my father had given her to Elizabeth, but it was gone. I assumed my father had taken it. Then I remembered the second necklace in the secret compartment.

"I gave the necklace to Elizabeth, and she was suitably thrilled. It was a pretty sizable emerald in an antique platinum setting. I'm sure she thought it was a very significant gift rather than a guilt-offering.

"My dad had always tried to drill into me the importance of what we did, retrieving spelled objects and removing them from the world. But I frankly paid him little heed, and what harm could giving away my mother's necklace do?

"Elizabeth could tell the necklace had a spell, but she wasn't a very skilled witch, and I think she assumed it was a love spell, too. After all, that's what such an extravagant necklace seemed to imply, didn't it?

"You know what happened with the siblings next. It was a horrible situation and they broke contact with me after spelling me. I honestly forgot about the necklace at that point.

"And then I met Katrina. She was an amazing woman, an amazing witch, both in skill and appearance. She was beautiful, with flaming red hair and an incredible intensity. She was older than me, and I thought she knew so much about the world, and I think I was in love with her. I know it all sounds like it happened in one fell swoop, but this actually took place over weeks of meetings and conversations. 

“Then one day, she came to me with a request. Apparently, her father and my mother had been lovers many years before. He was the one to have given her the secreted emerald necklace. But when they broke up in, what I assume, was a very acrimonious fashion, my mother had used a spell on the necklace to take all memories of their time together from Katrina's father. Now, Katrina told me, her father was dying, and his only regret was having lost my mother. He knew he had loved her, but he couldn't remember. Katrina wanted to give that gift of memory back to her father before he died.

"I promised her I would get her the necklace. I didn't even think about the fact that I had given the necklace away. I think I would have promised her anything when we were together.

"I tried to contact Elizabeth to ask for the necklace back. She refused to return my calls. I went to her apartment repeatedly, and she refused to come to the door. Finally, George came out one day and basically thrashed me senseless. He warned me to stay away or things would be even worse for me the next time I showed my face.

"I returned to Katrina bloodied but empty handed, hoping that she would accept my abject apology because of my earnest efforts. She was not mollified. She became nearly hysterical, and she told me that I had failed her. She sent me away.

"I called her every day to apologize, sent her lengthy letters of contrition, sent her flowers. And finally, about two weeks later, she contacted me. She told me her father had died and that there was nothing more I could do. I told her I would do anything to make it up to her, and she said she would think about it.

"A few days later, she had me come over. We made love, and she said she wanted to put a spell on me. I was so relieved that she had allowed me to come back that I totally agreed. She held me in her arms and cast the spell. And when the third circle appeared on my thumb, I asked her what the spell was.

"I remember her expression so clearly. Where just minutes before she was loving and warm, her face now was blank, and I felt like she had no connection to me at all. It was like looking at a stranger, one who would pass you on the street and not be aware that you were there. That's what she looked like when she told me that the spell would prevent me from ever finding love. I was completely confused because I thought I loved her, so how could the spell be real. But she didn’t explain. She had completely shut me out, and she told me to leave.

"I tried to contact her again, but next thing I knew, she had disconnected her phone and then her apartment was rented out to new tenants. She was gone."

When Ichabod stopped his story, Andy's hands on his head had stilled. Andy leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Ichabod's neck. Ichabod shivered.

"It was a horrible year. I had lost my mother. I was totally dishonorable with George and Elizabeth. My cavalier attitude about spelled objects resulted in the situation with Katrina. And then my father killed himself. I felt like the world around me was a manifestation of the darkness inside me. I deserved those spells. I deserved everything bad that happened to me."

Andy kissed his neck again, and then he kissed behind his right ear. Ichabod leaned back into that touch.

"And I decided I didn't care. I was never going to find love, and it was just as well that I wasn’t because it was going to end horribly if I did. I wouldn't do that to anyone. So instead I found sex. Great sex. I wasn't going to be able to have sex with the person I loved, so I went out and had sex with people I didn't love. And it was fine."

"But now it's not." These were Andy's first words since Ichabod had started his story. Andy now had his arms around his shoulders, and Andy's lips were pressed firmly against the back of his head. He was held firmly in Andy's embrace.

Ichabod couldn't help it. Tears began to gather and then fall. "I want to so badly, but I can't risk it. I can't find a way to..."

Andy held a finger up to Ichabod's lips to silence him. "Then it's a good thing that I can, isn't it?"

Ichabod felt it, like a rippling under his skin. He felt it in his contact with Andy's finger. His eyes opened wide, and he felt like he was looking at his living room for the first time.

"I love you," Andy said. He learned forward and Ichabod twisted his head so that their lips could meet. Ichabod thought it, but he couldn't say it. He couldn't believe it. But here was Andy kissing him, and he knew that Andy loved him, and the want was gone, replaced by a sense of having and belonging. He was scared. He couldn't forget the spell that predicted he would destroy the one he loved. But he was loved, and he loved Andy in return, and for the moment he allowed himself to revel in a feeling he never thought he would permit himself.

Ichabod broke the kiss and lifted up his left hand. He held up his thumb so that both of them could see. Sure enough, one of the black circles was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Ichabod had not forgotten what Andy felt like on his tongue. The heavy heat, the pulse, the sudden uncontrolled jerk and thrust. But finally he did not feel the need to work to lock out that memory of warm smooth skin and constant moans and hitches of breath. He was allowed now, and he wanted it all, and now he could accept that it all was his.

Andy came with a shout and Ichabod relished the recollected taste of him as he swallowed his release. He kept Andy in his mouth, tonguing the head and coaxing out the last droplets of come until Andy was soft and drained.

Ichabod crawled up Andy's supine body, kissing up the length of his body. Andy made sounds of what he decided were contentment, and that made Ichabod content, too.

They embraced and kissed and nuzzled, pressing their bodies together. But there remained the problem.

"I guess the spell really works," sighed Andy in disappointment. "I'm doing my best to give you a show."

"A great show," agreed Ichabod.

"But not good enough to bring your little man - well, not really little at all - to attention. Not that I'm complaining about two pretty spectacular orgasms. But I was hoping you'd be having a spectacular one yourself inside of me."

Ichabod rolled to one side, but left a hand trailing lazy fingers over Andy's chest. "I was hoping along the same lines."

"Well, since we can't dispel the spell with amazing sex, I am wondering what the limits of the spell are," mused Andy, running a finger down Ichabod's neck and into the valley between his pectorals. "Maybe it's only when we're touching?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Hmmm," said Andy with a distinct leer, "how about you touch yourself and I watch. Just watch. No me touching you. Just you touching you."

Andy's voice had become lower and more gravelly and more intense. Ichabod could feel the desire coming off of him and helping to build his own desire, burning in his groin, aching for focus. He touched his cock expecting the familiar hardness, but it remained soft and clearly unresponsive. He felt so aroused in his mind, but his body did not follow.

Ichabod dropped back against the pillow in frustration and let his hands fall to his sides. "I never thought it would make any difference. George is probably laughing it up royally right now."

Andy nestled himself into Ichabod's side, his head on Ichabod's shoulder. "Screw George."

"Hmmph," muttered Ichabod.

"Well not literally. We're not giving up, you know. We have tons of things to try. And we just need to do it once, and the spell will be gone. And, believe me, I am motivated."

"Ready for round three?" Ichabod asked.

"Maybe the third time will be a charm," Andy said as he let Ichabod take him in hand again.

.....

Alas, Andy's third time was not enough to charm away the spell. While disappointed, Ichabod tried to keep things in perspective and focused on the fact that he could touch and kiss Andy and make him come as much as he wanted. And he continued to want to even after hours in bed.

"I need sustenance," stated Andy, getting up from the bed, "if I'm to keep this up. And our brains need food if we're to figure out how to get around this spell."

"And what, may I ask," said Ichabod, "are you planning to provide in the way of sustenance?"

"You'll see," was Andy's reply.

Sustenance ended up taking the form of coffee and cheese omelets, which they both ate ravenously.

"Viagra," stated Andy out of the blue. "That's our next thing to try. And if you end up with an erection that lasts for more than four hours, I'm willing to work with that."

"That's because it's not your cock at stake."

"But I do have a vested interest."

They decided a walk was in order, both to see about getting their hands on some Viagra and to get some fresh air. They ended up wandering through the Coit Tower flea market, where Ichabod found a spelled object. It was a rectangular piece of red wood on which was mounted a circle of brass with figures all along the edge. The figures looked as if they were reaching out of the brass, their mouths open and hands outstretched. The object was held up by a fitted brass stand. Ichabod took the find as a lucky sign.

The pharmacist told Ichabod that Viagra was by prescription only, as was Cialis and the other popular drugs to "treat" erectile dysfunction. Andy snorted when Ichabod called a doctor friend and asked him to call in a prescription to the pharmacy.

The Viagra seemed promising at first. Ichabod found himself sporting a serious erection while working in the shop the next afternoon after picking up the little blue pills in the morning. But when he hurried into the back office and his attention turned to Andy, like a light switch, his cock went into the off position almost immediately.

While they brainstormed other ways to counteract the "EDC" (erectile dysfunction curse), as they had taken to calling it in public and then out of convenience, life took a turn for the busier.

Objects seemed to suddenly crop up in relative profusion. 

A junk dealer Ichabod knew came by with things salvaged from a house that was under renovation, and the box of household goods included a spelled magnifying glass on a stand.

On a walk, Ichabod realized that a homemade doll that a little girl was carrying was spelled. Neither he nor Andy could think of a way to take possession of the doll, so they ended up following the little girl and her family to an address on Leavenworth St. and made a note of it for the inventory.

Jennifer herself brought in a spelled item, a padlock that would be triggered by someone trying to open it with anything other than the proper key. The focus appeared to be electrical devices in the vicinity.

Abbie called him about a rumor that there was an eternal candle at the Shrine of St. Francis, just down the hill from the shop on Columbus. True enough, the candle was spelled. He returned with Jennifer, and together they figured out that it was the old metal candle stand that was spelled, and the companion snuffer, sniffed out in a nearby closet, was able to extinguish the candle, removing the miraculousness of the object and making it easy to substitute with a similar stand from the shop. When they returned to the shop, Andy noted wryly that the last thing they needed was yet another candle.

The rush of objects provided a measure of distraction, but finding a way to break the EDC spell was always on their minds. Another facet of the spell became clear when Ichabod found himself getting hard while taking a shower. It was a general feeling of sensuousness, and he could feel himself stroking himself to climax. He couldn't help but start thinking of Andy, and once that happened, his erection went away. He forced himself to clear his mind and relax and began just touching himself again, thinking sexy thoughts, but keeping his mind away from one person in particular. He used a reliable fantasy involving a bellboy and a travelling business man, and when he got to the part where the businessman had the boy spread on the bed, he was coming hard in his hand.

When he told Andy of this discovery, Andy responded grumpily, "At least I don't have to worry about you dying of blue balls."

Andy had taken to printing out promising possibilities (or really any possibilities at all), and the printouts had started littering the desk until Abbie noticed the theme and teased them both mercilessly over a cup of coffee and pie.

That they were happy together in a different way was immediately obvious to both sisters. Jennifer had simply smiled at them both (although she did raise an eyebrow). Abbie was sweet when Andy was in the room, but devolved to loud laughs and serious shoulder punching when Andy was not around. She was clearly very happy for him.

"Where should I put all these papers," Ichabod asked Andy. "Given the numerous pictures of penises, we should have put them somewhere out of sight from the start."

"Sorry about that," said Andy, clicking through the object inventory. "I didn't really have a place to put personal stuff. Just stick it all in that box on the floor."

Ichabod noted that this was the box Andy had had by his chair the day Ichabod had thought Andy was leaving. Since then, he hadn't really thought about the box, but now his curiosity returned.

Ichabod put the stack of papers on the floor and opened the box. Inside were papers and what were clearly framed photographs. "Can I look?" Ichabod asked.

Andy looked down at him kneeling on the floor in front of the open box. "Oh sure. It's just some stuff from Aunt Mei's place that I didn't take home yet."

Ichabod put aside what were clearly letters and personal documents. There were two framed pictures underneath, both in cheap metal frames. They were 4 by 6 photographs. One was of the younger Andy in cap and gown, another college graduation picture Ichabod would guess, holding his aunt by the waist. The bleachers of a sports stadium were in the background. Andy had his now familiar smile, and Meili looked pleased if not exactly cheerful.

The second was of Meili and her sister Kate, Andy's mother. They were both in their thirties it looked like, so probably taken around the time of Andy's adoption. Kate was an attractive woman and looked vaguely familiar.

Ichabod couldn't help but go through the rest of the contents since he had permission. There were more papers and older letters, apparently from Kate after she had moved to Fremont. How old-fashioned, thought Ichabod. Most people would just call. There was an envelope from a long-term storage place in Fremont clipped to some papers clearly related to Kate’s business.

Near the bottom of the box was a final group of things tied together with a piece of faded green ribbon. "What's this?" he asked, thinking that perhaps Meili had had a secret love after all.

Andy looked over. "Oh. That's stuff from her mom I think, my grandmother. My mom refused to have anything of hers in the house, but I found this pack of stuff hidden away under clothes in Aunt Mei's dresser. There are a few cards, some notes from her, and there's a picture of the two of them."

Andy watched him as he slid the knotted ribbon around the packet. Not letters from her one true love, then, but evidently someone she loved in spite of how difficult the relationship might have been. There were a few generic birthday cards, and it was unclear from the designs at what age Meili had been given them. There was a well-folded note reminding Meili to pick up some groceries. And a faded photo of a red-headed woman and a young-looking Chinese girl. Ichabod looked at the face of the woman. It couldn't be, and yet it was. He looked up at Andy, not sure how to ask.

"I know. Aunt Mei looks like a little princess, doesn't she? I would never have figured. She was always so sturdy looking to me." Andy paused. "What's wrong?"

"It’s not your aunt. It's your grandmother."

"You know her?" Andy asked anxiously.

Ichabod nodded, trembling. "I didn’t know her as Meili’s mother," said Ichabod, "but I did know her. Your grandmother is Katrina Moloch. The Katrina who cast the third spell on me."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. But that means a woman who hated me raised the woman who was my assistant for decades."

Andy thought before speaking again. "You think this has something to do with Aunt Mei's death?"

"It seems a very strange coincidence. And you never met her? You're sure?" Ichabod knew he was being a bit insistent, but he suddenly felt nervous, like a spell was ready to tear everything apart.

"I told you. Mom never talked to her even. Maybe when I was a baby, but I wasn't even sure that was her picture. I just guessed from the other things. One day mom mentioned that my grandmother was dead, but it wasn't clear when it had even happened." Andy was obviously agitated.

"Sorry," Ichabod soothed, taking Andy's face in his hands and kissing him. "I'm probably being paranoid. But it makes me nervous all the same. I'm calling Jennifer and Abbie."

"Okay," relaxed Andy slightly. "You call them, and then I have something to show you."

Ichabod ended up leaving messages for them both, so he turned his attention back to Andy. "I'll just have to wait for them to get back to me."

"Maybe," said Andy, "we have time to try another treatment for your EDC."

"Oh, really?" asked Ichabod. He continued to pay attention while he put away most of Meili's things back into the box, along with the stack of printouts. He kept the photograph out and on the desk.

"I know the Viagra didn't quite work," Andy began, "but it got me thinking that since you have magical ED, maybe you need some magical version of Viagra."

"And this is why you were looking through the inventory?"

"Exactly. I remembered something that seemed to have aphrodisiacal properties, but I couldn't remember what it was. The wording used to describe the object didn't mention Viagra or EDC, so it took me a while to find the object. But find it I did." Andy looked quite smug.

"And...," prompted Ichabod. He couldn't help smiling at Andy's self-satisfied look.

"It's a cup or, to use your more accurate word choice, a chalice," Andy continued. Ichabod looked down at the computer screen. There was a photograph of a silver cup with a gold floral design around the stem and the bowl. It was obviously fairly old and quite lovely to look at. The description for this item was much more detailed than many. The trigger was wine; the focus was the drinker; and the description also included the effect: 'a marked enthusiasm for convivial society.' This was also a permanently spelled object rather than a one-use object.

"You can see why I couldn't find it with a search. I had to look up "convivial society." I suspected it didn't just mean hanging out with good friends."

Ichabod hesitated. The last time he had not given a spelled object the proper respect had ended badly. Here he was again at the brink of using a spelled object for his own purposes, in this case so that he could "get it up" for Andy.

Andy was looking at him with such fondness and hope. Ichabod's reluctance dropped away. He had to smile. "You know where to find it on the shelves?"

"Indeed I do," laughed Andy. "Let's go for it," he shouted as he raced ahead through the door to the basement.


	14. Chapter 14

Andy ran ahead of Ichabod, flipping on the stair lights, and down the basement steps. "I know which sh..." Andy's voice cut off suddenly with a startled cry.

"What's wrong?" Ichabod called out anxiously hurrying down the stairs. "Did you fall?"

He arrived at the bottom of the stairs to find Andy standing less than ten feet away, facing away from him. "I think I'm stuck. I can move my upper body, but it's like I can't move my legs or feet!"

Ichabod turned on the rest of the basement lights. He could see that Andy was standing on the end of a clear plastic hall runner, the kind usually placed to protect hallway rugs. He knew this object, but he couldn't figure out how it had made its way on to the aisle floor. He felt a nervous tremble flow down his spine.

He carefully avoided the runner while walking past Andy so that he could turn and face him. "It's a spelled object."

"I've figured that out," said Andy with an exasperated tone. "What's it doing here on the floor?"

"By all rights, it should be stored safely under the stairwe..." Ichabod felt a pair of hands push him suddenly forward, and before he could stop himself, he had stumbled onto the runner and was immobilized as well.

"Are you okay?" asked Andy in surprise. "How did you trip?"

Ichabod turned his head but could see nothing in the direction from which the push had come. He was definitely alarmed, but they needed to stay calm.

"I don't know. Fortunately, the immobilization is only temporary," said Ichabod, trying for a reassuring and confident tone of voice. "Thank goodness, or else we'd be having great difficulty in getting it back into a bag."

"I don't understand," said Andy, anxious. Andy was close enough to grab his hands in his. "Who could get down here..."

Andy's voice trailed off and it was clear he had seen something over Ichabod's shoulder. Ichabod turned, and he realized he was looking at Andy, but not Andy.

It didn't make any noise, which made it even eerier to watch it move with Andy's distinctive gait. He heard Andy's gasp. "It's a shadow, isn't it?" Andy said softly. "It's my shadow."

What could Ichabod say that wasn't already horribly obvious.

"What's it doing?" Andy asked. The shadow had gone and dragged one of the small work tables into the aisle, near Ichabod but out of reach. Both of them followed the shadow with their eyes as it walked into a section of shelves and reemerged with a piece of red wood.

"That's the wood and brass thing you just found at the flea market!" Ichabod nodded in agreement at Andy's identification. Ichabod's neck was aching from having to twist around to see what was happening. The shadow stood the piece of wood up on the table behind Ichabod.

The shadow returned to the same area and came out with the magnifying glass on its stand. It placed the object on the table behind the piece of wood and then there was a slight squeak as, Ichabod assumed, the position of the magnifying glass was adjusted. He was well beyond alarmed now. It was clear the shadow was setting up something that could not be good. He couldn't maintain the contortion and turned back to face Andy, whose eyes were glued on the actions of the shadow behind him. They had continued to hold hands.

"Both those things just came in. What else was there?" Andy was babbling. Then he said, "The candle. It's got the candle." Andy must have noticed that Ichabod was no longer looking behind him. "It's putting the candle on the table." And then there was the sound of a match being struck, followed by the familiar smell of a match head igniting. "He's lighting the candle," Andy continued, "but I can't see what that's going to accomplish."

Ichabod had an idea. He didn't know how any of these specific objects worked, but he had lived with spelled objects long enough to have an idea. Candles make light, and magnifying glasses can focus light. He was going to assume this was going to do something to the wood and brass object. Wood. Of course, he thought. Wood burns.

Sure enough, the smell of wood smoke began drifting into the basement air.

"This is some super-spell, isn't it?" cried Andy. "My shadow is setting up some super-horrible spell. Where did the shadow even come from?"

Ichabod was not sure whether attempting to keep Andy calm was the best thing to do in these circumstances. A multiple-object spell meant a lot more planning and a lot more skill. Someone had made sure all of these objects made their way into the basement. Someone had gotten to Andy and created the shadow to effect the spell. Ichabod was still thinking how to respond when the searing pain hit. It was like someone was driving a knife into his lower back, and only when he could smell the distinctive odor of burning flesh that he knew what it was. Ichabod gave an anguished cry as he tried to twist his body out of the way, but he only ended up feeling the burn elsewhere.

"What's wrong? Oh my god. That's you, isn't it? The thing is fucking burning you!" Andy's hands clutched Ichabod's.

Now that the initial shock had passed, Ichabod was able to keep himself from crying out again. He was gritting his teeth and looking at the hysterical Andy when he heard a very familiar voice.

"Hello Ichabod. If you are hearing this, and I hope you are, it means that everything is in place and you are about to die, but not before you know who did this to you."

"Katrina," he moaned. And in a pained whisper, he heard Andy whisper, "Mom?"

Ichabod couldn't even keep his eyes open now, the pain forcing his eyes and teeth to clench shut.

"And not before you see your true love die because of you," Katrina’s voice continued. "Your family destroyed me and the one I loved. So I'm here to destroy you and the one you love."

Ichabod couldn't think clearly, but he flashed on that emerald necklace.

"Andy," the voice said, not Katrina- she was gone, wasn't she, grabbing a thread of Ichabod's attention with the name - "is perfect, isn't he? He's everything you ever wanted. How could you help but fall in love with him? After all, I made him just for you."

Ichabod could hear Andy's cries, but he couldn't think. His entire body felt aflame. Made for him. Made of him. The shadow was a part of Andy.

"Andy," he shouted in realization, not knowing if he was really speaking or just screaming in his head. "The shadow comes from you. It is a part of you. You can make it listen to you."

Ichabod began to cough. Where was all the smoke coming from? Was he burning up?

"And now," the voice continued, "you are going to die as you watch your true love die before you. I'm sorry I can't be there to enjoy the finale."

The voice stopped, and it slowly dawned on Ichabod that the pain remained blistering, but the searing point of pain was gone. He retched and fell forward, but his immobilized legs refused to let him fall to the ground. He realized that Andy was no longer holding his hands.

"The shadow," coughed Andy, "knocked the magnifying glass over." There was more coughing and Ichabod could hear Andy straining for breath. "Too much smoke. Can't breathe..."

Ichabod forced open his eyes and could barely see Andy. Thick tendrils of smoke were twined around him, and Andy's hands batted uselessly among them. The wood had evidently continued burning, and the smoke was solely focused on Andy.

"The wood!" Ichabod shouted. "It's the wood..." He felt the world spinning, smoke and shadows and Andy's anguished face. He thought he saw the shadow pass him, tendrils of multi-hued smoke rising from its hands like an immense up-pouring of incense, and then the shadow vanished into the smoke of Andy's body and Ichabod's own darkness overcame him.

.....

Ichabod awoke. He was lying face down on what he realized was his own bed. His upper half was unclothed, and he felt a mixture of pain and coolness on his lower back. His neck felt tight and strained, but when he attempted to loosen the tightness, the general pain in his back lanced up his spine like a whip. He must have made a noise because Abbie appeared by his side. She looked tired, and her police uniform was creased and wrinkled.

"Hello, Crane," she said softly. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Ichabod tried to say something, but the effort triggered spasms in his throat, and he was wracked with coughs coupled with fresh jags of pain along his back.

"Just rest," Abbie said, stroking the back of one arm. Things are under control. Just rest."

.....

When he woke again, it was brighter than the time before. His back still throbbed, but his head felt clearer. He opened his eyes and saw Jennifer looking back at him.

"Water?" she asked, and he gave a cautious nod of the head. She held a straw to his lips, and he sipped. The moisture helped to wash down some of the grit in his throat.

He had flashes of memory - smoke, a woman's voice, flame, and a face disappearing in shadows.

.....

He lay there quietly. He no longer felt the need to go right back to sleep. He could string together his memories of before, but they were confused and incomplete. He rubbed his face into his pillow. It was dark now, but he could sense that someone was nearby, asleep. The throb was no longer insistent and cutting. It was a pervasive ache, but it no longer stabbed him in sharp points. He breathed in deeply, and he did not feel the need to cough even though his throat still felt raw and rough. From the smoke. Smoke and burning wood. Shadows and billowing smoke. Andy.

"Andy!" he rasped. Shortly thereafter, a tousled Jennifer appeared by his bed.

"It's okay," Jennifer said gently. "Andy is fine."

"Where is he?" What Ichabod really wanted to know was why he wasn't there.

"He's at home, hopefully asleep," she answered. "I'll call him soon. He insisted as soon as you were awake and talking."

"He's fine," Ichabod echoed.

"Yes, he's alive and doing fine." There was, however, a hitch to her voice, and Ichabod knew he wasn't as fine as she insisted. How could he be?

"You got to us in time?" Ichabod asked.

"No. It was all over by the time we got to you. Both of you were collapsed on the floor but breathing. Thank goodness I recognized that plastic runner. We dragged you both off of that, and you looked far worse than Andy."

"The shadow? The burning smoke?" he asked.

"No sign of either. We saw them on the security footage, but suddenly they vanished."

"Where did they go?" He was tiring and ready to sleep again.

"Andy called the shadow back into himself, and the wood and the smoke went with it."

.....

Ichabod woke to daylight. He was lying on his side with his arm under his pillow. He lay there for a while with empty thoughts.

"Jenny knew you were awake." It was Abbie, looking alert and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. "Feel up to some food?"

Ichabod realized he was indeed hungry. "Hungry," he nodded.

"No surprise. You've been out for three days. But the poultice has healed the worst of that burn. That was truly nasty. The blood and the fluids and the charred flesh. And God, Crane, the smell."

"I feel okay," he said.

"I think you're still a ways away from okay, but you're not as not okay as you were before. And you'll live. Okay, coffee and toast."

Abbie and Jennifer returned together with a tray. Abbie helped him to sit up, bracing him away from the headboard with a pillow behind his upper shoulders. He sipped the coffee slowly. It wasn't too hot. Then he ate two pieces of toast with butter and marmalade.

While he ate, the sisters talked, knowing he needed to know what had happened. The two related the events in such synchronicity that it became one voice in his head.

"First, it was an amazingly complex spell. Second, there was Andy's shadow. Third, it all makes a kind of sense if this is the work of Katrina Moloch. Fourth Andy stopped the spell. Fifth, Katrina is beyond fucked up."

The last comment, Ichabod was sure, came from Abbie.

"We tried to track down the items of the spell, but no one was able to say how those items got in their boxes or in their stalls. No one knows where the candle came from at the Shrine, either. As you obviously know from painful personal experience, the candle flame was focused by the magnifying glass to burn the red wood thing. However, that was not the whole trigger. It's clear from the footage that only when the focused light had burned through the wooden object and began to burn you that the dark smoke started. And it went straight for Andy. We suspect it was spelled especially to attack him.

"The footage also shows the shadow in the basement before Andy comes running down. It pulls the runner out and lays it on the ground. Then it disappears into the shelves for a pretty long time, perhaps to take all the objects it needs out of their bags. Then it crosses the aisle and waits. We don't see it again until it pushes you on to the runner.

"Andy gave us an idea of what the shadow said. Evidently another spell. We're not quite sure what triggered the shadow to talk, and who knows when she spelled the shadow to speak. But Katrina is definitely dead. On a hunch, we checked with Henry Parrish at Green Street Mortuary. Katrina’s funeral was held there, too, and Henry helped prepare the body and cremate it afterwards. You are sure it was Katrina's voice?"

Ichabod nodded around his mug of coffee.

"Andy sounded like you were pretty sure. He's also sure it was his mother's voice, which suggests Katrina was also his mother," said Abbie.

"Wait," muttered Ichabod around a bite of toast. "I've seen pictures of Andy and his mother at his apartment. That wasn't Katrina. There could be some resemblance, but I would know her face anywhere."

"Like in Meili's photograph."

Ichabod nodded again.

"It could have been a glamour," said Jennifer. "If this really was Katrina, she was skilled enough to carry a glamour to disguise her appearance."

"The totally fucked up part is that it sounds like Katrina has been planning this for Andy's entire life." Abbie scowled. "Andy always said he had such a happy childhood. He was clearly close to his mother. Could she actually have been that good at hiding what she was planning?"

Ichabod shuddered. It was dawning on him how much he was responsible for determining and then overturning Andy's life. And the shadows, one in Meili and one in Andy. If Katrina was mother to both of them, she certainly had the time to create the shadows. What could it be like to have a part of yourself turn on you? He had done all that to Andy. How could he ever make it up to him? If he had the chance, that is.

Ichabod tuned back into the sisters' explanation. "He said you had the idea that he could connect with the shadow. He finally could feel it in his mind. He couldn't express anything very complicated to the shadow, but he could get it to move. He got it to swing its arm to knock away the magnifying glass. Who knows how much more you could have taken.

"Then Andy says he looked past you at the glass room, and he had a thought. The bottle had disappeared when the shadow had disappeared when Meili died. Since the shadow was a part of Meili, of course it would vanish. But the bottle wouldn't unless, perhaps, it was in the shadow's possession. And that's when he focused on making the shadow come to him.

"He wasn't at all sure it would work, and there was all that smoke, but he felt himself pulling the shadow into himself, and with it the burning wood. He says he was out of it for a while, but it couldn't have been long. He says he was still immobilized when he came to, and the shadow and the smoke were gone. He could see you slumped over but still standing. But then the effect of the runner ran out, and he collapsed on the floor and says he must have passed out."

Ichabod asked, "And you're sure he's okay?"

"Physically," said Jennifer, "we can't see anything wrong. But he absorbed that spelled object, not to mention the shadow. Who knows what's inside of him now."

"Mentally, however," said Abbie, "he was hardly holding it together when we saw him yesterday. He's been sounding a little better on the phone today, but he's still on edge."

"What do you expect," said Ichabod heatedly. "He's been used and nearly killed. And probably by a woman he thought was a mother he loved very much."

The sisters were silent and clearly giving Ichabod some license to vent.

"Some more coffee?" asked Jennifer.

Ichabod nodded. Abbie picked up the tray with the empty dishes and left the room, her sister following her.

Ichabod let out a deep sigh and just looked forward without seeing the physical reality of his bedroom. He could only see the images in his mind. Andy's open and loving face. Andy laughing. Andy gently touching his face, his lips. He had destroyed all that.

With a horrified thought, Ichabod looked down at his thumb. There were still two circles remaining. He bitterly accepted that Andy hadn't died. But this meant he had not yet done his worse. What could he still do to Andy? He needed to stay away from him to keep him safe.

He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and thought Jennifer had come up with the coffee, but it was Andy.

He could see the pain and the confusion and the doubt, all of it so plain on that wonderfully open so-easy-to-read face. He grimaced to see how much he had taken from this man. Andy had brought him a joyful spirit, and Ichabod had sucked all the joy out of it.

"I had to see you," said Andy, obviously with great hesitancy. "I had to know you would be alright…"

Alright before what? Alright because? What could Ichabod say? He looked at Andy, and tears came to his eyes. Andy’s words suggested that Andy had come to check on him before leaving. Why would he stay?

"I'm so sorry," said Andy. Andy was openly crying, but Ichabod didn't understand what he was apologizing for. Ichabod was the one who needed to apologize.

"I can't believe I almost killed you," continued Andy. "And I'm really confused because in spite of everything I know, I still love the mother I had. I'm sorry for that, too."

Ichabod looked at Andy with anguish tearing through his insides. He could never fix this. He could never restore Andy to his former perfect self.

Andy was sobbing now. He looked away from Ichabod and visibly composed himself. He turned back. "I know you think everything was fake, that mom, Katrina, molded me and controlled me. And probably she did make me who I am. But I'm also me. Even though she may have influenced everything I do and what I like and how I think, there's still me inside here. And that me loves you." Andy stopped for a moment and then whispered, "But I know that's not enough to make things right."

Andy turned away, and Ichabod knew that in seconds, he was going to walk out of that door and out of his life. And in that instant, Ichabod realized that this moment, not the time in the basement, was when he could destroy Andy. By letting him go because Ichabod was not worthy, but in doing so, allowing Andy to think that Ichabod couldn't love him anymore.

"Andy," Ichabod said, and he realized with a shock that he had not said one word to Andy since he had arrived. "Don't go."

Andy stopped and turned back. He looked at Ichabod with uncertainty in his expression. Ichabod could change that. He had the power to eliminate that uncertainty. And he did. "I love you," he said. "Stay."

Andy looked stunned for a moment, but in the next, he was crouched next to Ichabod, his hand reaching out. Ichabod grabbed hold of it and held it tight. He wanted to apologize for bringing these horrors into Andy's life, for cursing his whole life with spell upon spell. But that would wait. Right now, Andy needed to know he was loved, not that Ichabod was sorry. Ichabod leaned forward and kissed him. Andy's hand in his gripped back tightly, and when Ichabod glanced down at their conjoined hands, he saw one of the two remaining circles on his thumb fading away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of my first attempt at fan fiction, and it's been a great experience. I've posted two chapters this week to wrap things up because this final chapter is really just a sexy coda. Thanks for the positive feedback and encouragement. I've had such a good time that I've already started a follow up, which I'll begin posting next week.

They had to wait a few weeks for Ichabod to completely regain his strength and for his wound to heal. Andy took him for lazy walks up and down Grant Avenue for fresh air, and Andy did work around the shop at Ichabod's direction. With the second curse gone, they both seemed to be purposely not thinking about Katrina and what she had done and almost accomplished.

Abbie reported back on the cufflinks case. Her contacts found that the two partners were also found to have been killed through the use of spelled items. The father was confronted with the evidence and had broken down, clearly already well shattered by the death of his son.

Finally, Ichabod was far enough healed that they were ready to try, in spite of Ichabod's continued worries that the world might end when they used the chalice. 

Andy poured a measure of a very expensive pinot grigio bought especially for the occasion into the chalice, and the lamp light reflected warmly off the surface of the wine and the silver and gold. Andy looked at the chalice with apprehension yet hope clear on his face as Ichabod lifted the chalice to his lips. He swallowed the mouth full of wine, enjoying the crisp acidity. He didn't feel any different.

Andy came in close and placed his hands on Ichabod's shoulders. Then he leaned in to kiss him. They had had so many kisses before when kissing was all they could really do together, but Ichabod now felt even more acutely aware of the softness of Andy's lips. He shuddered at the brush of Andy's tongue against his own, and soon they were kissing with eager open mouths. Andy pressed hard against him, and at first, Ichabod thought it was just the now familiar ache of desire burning low in his groin. But Andy suddenly pulled back, and when Ichabod looked at him, Andy was smiling.

The next thing he knew, he could feel Andy's hand stroking the front of his trousers, stroking the length of his hardness. By the third stroke of Andy's eager hand over his erection, the final spot on Ichabod's thumb faded out of existence. With alacrity, Andy had Ichabod out of his trousers and briefs, and Ichabod moaned at the feel of Andy's hand wrapped around his rigid cock. His cock did not stay in Andy's hand for long. Andy had far more urgent places for it to be.

They both undressed, and Andy dropped to his knees, wrapping Ichabod's cock in heated wetness. Andy looked up at him, his lips wrapped tightly around his glistening cock, and Ichabod almost came just looking at the luscious sight. But clearly, this was just another prelude to what Andy really wanted and needed, and Ichabod let himself be carried along by the crashing wave that was Andy's desire.

Andy tore open a condom and unrolled it down Ichabod's length, and he took Ichabod's sheathed cock again into his mouth. Ichabod could not help but buck at the sensation, and Andy let out a moan. Ichabod marveled at the sparks of pleasure that he had thought he might never experience again. When Ichabod looked down at Andy this time, he could see that Andy had already lubricated his fingers and was furiously preparing himself to take Ichabod into his body.

Andy pulled away and lay on the bed, his knees spread wide to allow Ichabod to lie between them. They ground their hips together, and Ichabod kissed the delicate flesh of Andy's neck. Andy lifted his legs, and Ichabod helped to firmly push them back over his prone body, opening him wide. Andy made Ichabod's cock gleam with lubricant, and with a slick slide, Ichabod pushed into Andy's welcoming warmth.

He was the one filling Andy with his cock, but with each stroke, he could feel himself filling with joy and desire and love. He looked down at Andy, and Andy was there with him fully, his eyes bright and shining and looking up with a joy equal to his. Then Andy closed his eyes, arched his back, and tilted his head back, open-mouthed moans signaling his impending release. Ichabod thrust faster and faster, chasing after Andy. When Andy cried out his orgasm, Ichabod could feel Andy tighten around him, and that was all it took for him to burst in a blinding whiteness of pure happiness.

.....

So the world didn't end, but as Andy later laughingly told the sisters, it certainly moved.


End file.
